AN  UNKNi 


GIFT  or 

Dr.    C.   A.   Kofoid 


'^y/Tvu)  ^'^yO   /Vcn^i>e.^^^^^u^ 


^<>ly-tAy 


''(^j^L^e^^^^^'l^J^C^ 


r'r  ^^ 


AN  UNKNOWN  COUNTRY 


\ 


■piilwwMi«iHiMiiMinMaKi 


1 


'  "*'p'Wi!!p*^ 


QjuJixX , YYwn.*  ,1)  uyyJ6\  Ynoroo.CN'ViuJLocKj 


AN  UNKNOWN  COUNTRY 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

"JOHN     HALIFAX,    GENTLEMAN" 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  FREDERICK  NOEL PATON 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS.    FRANKLIN    SQUARE 

1887 


oL 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 


PAOR 

FROM   ANTRIM   TO    CUSHENDALL 1 


PART  II. 

CUSHENDALL    AND   CU8HENDUN 41 

PART  III. 

THE    giant's    causeway 75 

PART  IV. 

LONDONDERRY 109 

PART  V. 

GWEEDORE 147 

PART  VI. 

FROM    GWEEDORE    TO    CARRICK 185 


ivi31794 


4^SF 


SXUmiSE  AT  CARNLOUGH. 

{From  a  Dratcing  by  F.  Noei.  Paton.) 


(See  p.  80.] 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


TAQ* 
MUCKI8H    AND    THE    LAKE    AT    ARDS FrontispieCC. 

SUNRISE   AT   CABNLOUGH vii* 

SHANES   CASTLE,  LOUGH    NEAGH 10 

ROUND   TOWER,  ANTRIM 26 

THE   witch's   stone 30 

AT   GARRON    POINT 35 

COTTAGES   NEAR   GARRON   TOWER 37 

WATERFALL   AT   GLEN   ARIFF (35 

FAIR    HEAD   IN    FOUL    WEATHER 70 

TOMB  OF   THE    FIRST   LORD    ANTRIM    AT    BONAMARGY 71 

DUN8EVERICK    CASTLE 74 

A   nor'-easter 76 


X  '  LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

FAOK 

LANDING-PLACE    NEAR   THE    GIANT's    CAUSEWAY 78 

THE    PLEASKIN    AND    "  GIANT's    EYE-GLASS  " 81 

CARKICK-A-EEDE    BY    MOONLIGHT 91 

DUNLUCE    CASTLE 103 

THE    GAP    OF    BARNES 123 

RATHMULLEN        .       .       .  ' 129 

KILMACRENAN 132 

HOLY    WELL    AT   DOOAN 135 

HORN    HEAD 139 

GWEEDORE    GLEN 153 

MOUNT    ERIGAL,  GWEEDORE 155 

SKULL    ISLAND 157 

THE    POISON    GLEN 183 

IN   THE    ROSSES.     ' 197 

SALMON   LEAP    AT    CARRICK 209 

THE    LAIR    OF   THE    WHIRLWINDS 213 

GLEN  COLUMBKILLE      .       .     * 225 

ST,  columba's  cross 227 

MALIN   BAY 228 

ONE   man's    path — SLIEVE    LEAGUE 230 


AN    UNKNOWN    COUNTRY. 


PART  I. 

FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL. 

YES — it  is  a  country  as  absolutely  unknown  to  its  two 
sister  countries  as  if  it  were  in  the  backwoods  of 
America.  And  yet  it  is  within  twentj^-four  hours  of  Lon- 
don, the  same  of  Edinburgh,  and  less  than  half  that  time  of 
Dublin.  A  region  so  strangely  beautiful  in  its  desolation 
and  isolation  that,  ever  since  I  first  saw  it,  in  a  passing 
glimpse  fifteen  years  ago,  it  had  rested  on  my  mind,  amid 
all  the  countries  I  have  since  travelled  through,  as  a  land 
quite  peculiar,  which  I  longed  to  revisit  and  investigate, 
to  see  if  the  second  impression  confirmed  the  fii'st.  So  this 
year,  in  spite  of  its  condition  of  political  crisis  and  general 
social  upheaval,  foreboding — may  Heaven  avert  them! — 
no  end  of  troubles  to  come,  I  declared  my  intention  of 
taking  our  annual  holiday  journey  in  the  north  of  Ire- 
land. 
1 


2  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

'Ji'-was  ,aihti^iiig  to  watch  tlie  mingled  surprise  and  dis- 
iaj^jfJi^OYgl  on  ;my . frionds'  faces.  "Going  to  travel  in  Ire- 
land !  Are  you  riot  afraid  of  being  shot  ?  Do  you  expect 
to  get  anything  to  eat?  Do  you  mean  to  live  in  a  dirty 
cabin,  with  the  pig — '  the  gentleman  who  pays  the  rint ' 
(which  he  has  not  done  lately) — for  your  companion ;  a 
turf  fire,  and  no  chimney  to  speak  of  ?  What  can  you 
possibly  find  in  Ireland — especially  the  north  of  Ireland — 
worth  seeing  or  worth  writing  about  f 

So  argued  ordinary  acquaintances;  while  some  affection- 
ate utihtarians,  taking  the  usual  friendly  privilege  of  speak- 
ing their  minds,  declared  unhesitatingly  that  it  was  the 
most  quixotic  project  that  ever  was  formed,  even  by  an 
individual  who  is  rather  given  to  doing  things  which  no- 
body else  ventures  to  do,  but  which,  to  the  great  surprise 
of  practical-minded  critics,  sometimes  do  actually  succeed ! 

For  six  long  months  I  answered  these  protests  with 
a  smiling  silence,  possibly  rather  aggravating;  but  what 
was  the  good  of  argument  ?  I  had  deliberately  made  up 
my  mind,  settled  my  proceedings,  faced  my  difficulties,  and 
counted  the  cost  of  them  all. 

First,  as  to  being  shot — which  to  the  English  mind 
seems  the  natural  result  of  going  to  Ireland.  An  Irishman 
generally  commits  crimes  from  what  he  considers  the  high- 
est of  motives ;  though  he  will  murder,  he  will  seldom  steal. 
I  was  sure  that  in  these  times,  as  in  ancient  days,  of  which 
Moore  wrote  in  his  immortal  Irish  melodies,  four  lone 
women — I  had  asked  three  kind  girls  to  come  and  take  care 
of  me — might  traverse  Ireland  from  end  to  end  and  "feel 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  3 

not  the  least  alarm."  As  to  food,  if  we  could  get  bread, 
butter,  milk,  and  eggs  ad  libit um^  and  of  the  best  kind,  as  I 
was  informed  would  be  the  case,  we  should  not  starve ; 
probably  be  better  fed  than  I  have  been  in  many  a  grand 
foreign  hotel.  For  the  rest  —  is  not  nature  always  worth 
seeing,  and  human  nature  worth  writing  about  ?  The  only 
test  is  the  eye  that  sees  and  the  heart  which  takes  in  and 
"  sets  down  naught  in  malice."  And  I  knew  my  intent  was 
good ;  that  I  was  doing  nothing  hastily,  or  selfishly,  or  su- 
perficially, for  the  mere  object  of  "  making  a  book." 

Without  presuming  to  come  forward  with  any  panacea 
for  the  ills  of  poor  old  Ireland,  done  to  death  for  centuries 
with  external  nostrums,  when  her  real  cure  lies  within  her- 
self, it  struck  me  that  a  woman — only  a  woman — Irish  by 
blood  and  English  by  education,  old  enough  to  possess  a 
certain  amount  of  e^^perience  as  well  as  common- sense, 
especially  the  experience  that  one  gets  from  travelhng  in 
foreign  countries,  and  comparing  them  with  one's  own — 
might  see  things  which  cleverer  people  failed  to  see,  and  say 
things  which  less  unbiassed  people  dared  not  say,  concern- 
ing a  country  which  is  so  little  appreciated  because  so  little 
known.  For  with  nations,  as  with  human  beings,  "  love  is 
the  fulfilling  of  the  law."  You  must  go  to  them  with  an 
open  heart,  and  at  least  try  to  love  them,  else  you  will  never 
understand  them. 

To  this  end  I  had  one  advantage — that  of  being  abso- 
lutely non-political.  Ladies'  Land  Leagues,  Primrose  Hab- 
itations, and  Female  Suffrage  Societies  ai*e  to  me  equally 
obnoxious.     I  do  not  care  two  straws  whose  hand  steers 


4  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

the  national  ship,  provided  it  is  a  strong,  steady,  and  honest 
hand.  If  it  should  please  Providence  and  the  enlightened 
British  nation  to  grant  my  sex  a  vote,  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
give  mine,  irrespective  of  party,  to  the  best  man,  the  most 
capable  and  well-edncated  man,  and  the  truest  gentleman, 
whether  he  be  Radical  or  Conservative,  the  son  of  a  duke  or 
of  a  blacksmith. 

Also,  I  detest  all  religious  warfare — the  creed  not  of 
love  but  of  hatred,  into  which,  alas !  Christianity  has  been 
corrupted,  until  it  is  made  by  many  to  consist,  not  in  hold- 
ing fast  your  own  faith,  but  in  trying  to  tear  limb  from 
limb — spiritually,  sometimes  bodily — every  one  whose  faith 
is  different  from  yours.  I  believe  that  men  of  all  faiths — 
nay,  even  those  poor  souls  who  have  no  faith  at  all  —  ought 
to  live  together  in  brotherly  peace,  neither  meddling  with 
nor  condemning  each  other;  sure  that  God  can  manifest 
himself  through  the  righteous  of  every  creed,  or  no  creed ; 
and  that,  however  we  may  hate  one  another,  he  hates  no 
man — except  the  bigot  and  the  hypocrite. 

It  seems  to  me,  in  all  humility,  that  a  woman  who 
thought  thus,  and  was  not  afraid  or  ashamed  to  say  so,  was 
not  the  worst  person  to  go  to  that  "  most  distressful  coun- 
try," and  tell  what  she  saw  there  to  other  countries,  whose 
crass  ignorance  on  the  subject  is  often  comical,  sometimes 
pathetic,  and  always  harmful.  There  is  no  condemnation 
so  severe  as  that  of  a  person  who  knows  absolutely  nothing 
of  what  he  condemns. 

To  this  long  preamble  —  but  not  longer  than  was  neces- 
sary— I  will  only  add  that  I  started  with  the  firm  resolve 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  5 

not  to  trust  to  second  -  hand  evidence,  but  to  see  all  I  could 
with  my  own  eyes,  and  hear  it  with  my  own  ears  ;  since  in 
Ireland,  as  in  many  other  places,  the  most  difficult  thing  in 
the  world  to  get  at  is  a  fact ;  and  when  you  have  got  it,  you 
generally  hear  it  twisted  into  so  many  opposite  versions 
that  you  are  led  to  question  its  existence  at  all. 

So  we  started,  a  party  of  three,  with  power  to  add  to  our 
number.  Not,  I  confess,  without  some  misgivings,  and  a 
sensation  akin  to  that  of  Saint  Paul  when  he  went  to 
Rome,  not  knowing  what  things  should  befall  him  there. 
Still,  on  the  whole,  we  had  a  good  courage,  strengthened  by 
three  pleasant  days  at  bonny  Carlisle;  though  it  ebbed  a 
little  as  we  swept  on  to  Stranraer,  followed  by  sheets  of 
driving  rain,  and  a  wind  —  oh,  that  ominous  wind!  It 
haunted  us  all  through  the  night  in  a  dreary  hotel,  and 
when  our  eyes  opened  to  a  pleasant  dawn,  there  it  was,  shak- 
ing the  trees  of  a  churchyard  opposite.  We  could  not  stay 
— ^we  felt  bound  to  go,  stormy  though  the  weather  might 
be.  So,  lured  by  the  brilliant  sunshine  and  the  smihng, 
deceitful  sea,  we  found  ourselves,  at  seven  in  the  morning, 
in  the  deck-cabin  of  the  Lame  steamer,  waiting  for  the  hap- 
less passengers  who  had  been  travelling  all  night.  They 
came,  a  forlorn-looking  troop,  and  a  few  miimtes  afterwards 
we  set  sail  for  the  "Island  of  Saints,"  as  Ireland  used  to  be 
called. 

Alas !  not  now.  The  first  thing  we  heard — in  talking 
with  two  bright-faced  Irish  girls  who  had  come  from  Oban 
the  day  before,  and  were  going  on  to  Dublin  that  night,  yet 
seemed  as  cheery  and  as  neat  as  if  they  had  just  stepped 


6  AJV  UliKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

out  of  a  bandbox— was  about  the  continued  Belfast  riots. 
They  told  us  a  train  had  been  stopped  at  Portadown,  and 
Miss  Minnie  Palmer,  the  actress,  had  been  shot  at  as  her 
carriage  was  passing  through  the  town.  (N.B. — These 
"facts"  were  considerably  modified  afterwards,  as  were 
many  others  before  we  left  Ireland.)  Nevertheless,  the 
girls  did  not  seem  at  all  afraid,  but  chatted  gayly  as  we 
sailed  down  the  smooth  lough,  which  extends  for  a  few 
peaceful  miles  before  reaching  the  open  sea.  They  took 
everything  easily  —  riots  included  —  speculating  as  to 
whether  they  should  "  see  any  fighting "  as  they  passed 
through  BeKast,  and  maintaining  with  us  an  animated  con- 
versation on  Irish  affairs,  which,  as  we  afterwards  daily 
learned,  is  just  now  like  playing  a  game  of  whist,  in  which 
your  one  thought  is  to  discover  your  neighbor's  hand  and 
conceal  your  own. 

At  last  the  breezy  day,  where  bright  sunshine  added  in- 
sult to  injury,  forced  us  all  into  silence.  To  be  "  rocked  in 
the  cradle  of  the  deep  "  may  sound  well  enough  in  poetry, 
but  there  is  some  reason  in  the  angry  protest  of  the  man 
who  declared  that,  had  he  been  present  at  the  Creation,  he 
would  have  advised  that  the  world  should  be  made  "  with- 
out such  a  thing  as  an  island." 

That  unfortunate  island !  How  lovely  it  looked  as  we 
touched  Larne,  and  saw  thence  the  shining  half -circle  of 
Belfast  Lough,  one  of  the  finest  harbors  in  the  three  king- 
doms. As  smiling  and  kindly  was  the  welcome  —  though  a 
stranger's — to  me  and  my  two  English  girls,  who  had  never 
set  foot  in  Ireland  before,  and  who,  when  left  here  in  bene- 


FROM  ANTRIM   TO    CUSHENDALL.  7 

ficent  charge  for  three  days,  while  I  went  on  to  Antrim, 
bade  me  good-bye  with  a  wistful  earnestness^  as  if  I  were 
setting  them  adrift  in  a  rudderless  boat  on  their  way  to 
the  North  Pole,  or  somewhere  equivalent.  (They  told  me 
afterwards  that  those  three  days  were  full  of  pleasant- 
ness from  beginning  to  end.) 

The  line  from  Lame  to  Antrim  follows  the  usual  plan 
of  Irish  railways — of  making  the  journey  as  long  and  as 
roundabout  as  possible.  Still  it  was  not  wearisome.  A 
sunshiny  sea  on  one  hand,  and  a  smiling  country  on  the 
other.  Cultivated  country;  acres  of  potatoes,  beans,  and 
oats,  with  cottages  here  and  there — not  cabins,  but  cottages, 
well  built,  roofed,  and  glazed ;  often  covered  with  creepers, 
and  brightened  by  pretty  Httle  gardens  full  of  flowers. 
Could  this  be  the  land  of  teiTor  and  misrule  ?  Was  it  pos- 
sible to  believe  that  a  few  miles  off  there  was  street-fighting 
hand  to  hand,  between  fellow  -  Christians,  who  read  the* 
same  Bible,  wherein  is  written,  ^'  Whoso  hateth  his  brother 
is  a  murderer  f 

English  people  never  can  understand  that  Ireland  is 
peopled  by  two  races  —  nay,  by  several  races,  as  distinct 
from  one  another  as  the  Comishman  or  East  Anglian  is 
from  the  Northumbrian  or  the  Lowland  Scot.  So  that  vox 
populi  by  no  means  implies  a  combined  voice,  and  the 
phrase  "  So  Irish !" — alas,  too  often  an  opprobrious  adjec- 
tive— includes  types  of  character  as  opposite  as  the  poles. 
Here,  for  instance,  on  this  Antrim  coast,  wliicli  was  popu- 
lated almost  entirely  by  immigi-ation  from  Scotland,  the 
faces,  the  manners,  nay,  the  very  accent,  were  so  strongly 


'8  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

Scotch  that  it  was  difficult  to  beheve  one's  self  on  the 
western,  rather  than  the  eastern,  shore  of  the  Irish  Channel. 
Still  more  difficult — except  when  one  thought  of  the  Cove- 
nanters, whose  blood,  traceable  through  generations,  yet  hn- 
gers  here — was  it  to  realize  that  an  industrious,  well-to-do, 
thriving,  peaceful  population,  should  give  way  to  such  a 
Cain-and-Abel  madness.  Which  yet  had  a  sort  of  prudent 
method  in  it — for  a  friend  told  us,  laughing  at  our  fears, 
that  Belfast  was  "  quite  quiet  in  the  daytime ;"  that  the 
gentlemen  went  up  to  business,  and  the  ladies  to  do  their 
shopping,  only  taking  care  to  come  away  before  6  p.m., 
"when  the  fighting  began."  It  was  extraordinary  how 
little  people  living  on  the  spot  seemed  to  trouble  them- 
selves about  a  state  of  things  which  had  seemed  so  dreadful 
to  us  at  a  distance. 

"  We'll  not  talk  about  it,  since  we  can't  mend  it,"  was 
the  wise  though  sad  conclusion  that  I  and  my  hosts  came 
to  on  this  heavenly  day,  when,  as  we  drove  through  the 
sleepy  little  town  of  Antrim,  it  seemed  hardly  possible  to 
believe  there  was  beginning,  within  fifteen  miles  of  us,  that 
civil  war  which,  English  newspapers  declared,  was  already 
ine\'itable.  "  We  do  not  get  too  many  such  days  as  this  in 
Ireland,  even  in  summer "  (it  was  the  17th  of  August,  but 
seemed  fuU  summer  still) ;  "  let  us  not  waste  an  hour,  but 
go  direct  to  Shanes  Castle." 

My  friends  seemed  to  think  I  knew  all  about  that  place, 
but  in  truth  I  was  in  a  state  of  total  ignorance  concerning 
Shanes  Castle  and  the  great  Irish  chieftains,  the  O'Neills,  to 
whom  it  belonged.     I  had  never  even  heard  of  the  first 


FROM  ANTRIM   TO    CUSHENDALL.  9 

O'Neill,  the  Red  Hand  of  Ulster,  who,  colonizing  that 
country  by  the  usual  means,  invasion,  heard  his  Viking 
leader  say  that  it  should  belong  to  the  first  man  who 
"  touched  land,"  and  accordingly  cut  off  his  own  left  hand 
and  flung  it  ashore.  The  descendants  of  this  hardy,  if 
rather  savage,  gentleman  long  lived  at  Shanes  Castle,  which 
was  destroyed  by  fire  in  1816.  The  present  inhabitants  are 
a  family  whose  original  name  was  Chichester.  They  have 
built  a  desirable  modem  mansion;  and  are  excellent  people, 
I  was  told,  fulfilhng  all  their  social  and  domestic  duties, 
much  respected  in  the  county,  and  having  nothing  of  the 
wild  O'Neills  of  old  except  the  name. 

A  fierce  race,  indeed,  these  must  have  been,  and  their 
doings  and  sufferings  fill  an  important  page  in  Irish  his- 
tory. I  shall  not  attempt  to  Uft  it.  Perhaps  there  is  no 
civihzed  country,  except  Italy,  in  which  are  kept  up  as  in 
Ireland  the  vendettas  of  generations ;  when  decent,  respect- 
able modem  men  and  women  work  themselves  up  into 
hurricanes  of  rage  over  the  wrongs  of  their  great-great- 
grandfathers centuries  ago.  To  the  phlegmatic  Saxon  aU 
this  seems  very  foolish,  and  yet  —  well,  I  must  not  enter  on 
this  subject.  Let  the  O'Neills  sleep ! — as  they  do,  soundly 
enough — in  a  nettle-and-bramble-covered  old  burial-place, 
to  which  we  came  by  a  gi'een  avenue  —  in  all  seven  miles 
long. 

Shanes  Castle  is  said  to  be  the  finest  "  place  "  in  Ireland 
^-except  the  Marquis  of  Waterford's  seat,  Curraghmore. 
Such  masses  of  underwood,  of  flowering  shrubs  growing 
half  wild,  and  of  majestic  forest  trees — Nature  semi-culti- 


SHANES  CASTLE, 

LOUGH  NEAGH. 

{From  a  drawing  by  F.  Nokl  Paton.) 


vated.  But  in  the  burial-ground  Nature  is  left  all  to  her- 
self— too  much  to  herself,  perhaps — for  it  was  rather  sad 
to  have  to  scramble  through  a  wilderness  of  thorns  and 
briars,  and  broken  headstones  in  order  to  read  one  of 
the  latest  inscriptions : 

"  This  vault  was  built  by  Shane  M'Brien  M'^Phelim  M^Shane  M''Brien 
M^Phelim  O'NeiU,  Esq.,  in  the  year  \'J22,for  a  burial-place  to  himself  and  family 
of  Clanneboye.'''' 

Doubtless  meant  for  Clandeboye,  near  Holywood,  Bel- 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  11 

fast — the  early  home  of  the  present  Lord  Dufferin,  who  has 
made  himself  much  more  noted  than  his  name.  But  how 
that  worthy  "  Esquire,"  who  put  his  whole  pedigree  into 
Ms  name,  must  have  clung  to  his  ancestral  home,  when  ho 
planned  for  himself  and  his  descendants  this  gloomy  tomb ! 
where  he  and  they  are  ahke  deserted  and  forgotten — for  the 
present  O'Neills  bury  their  dead  elsewhere.  Still,  could  not 
they,  who  have  made  their  garden,  called  the  Rockery,  into 
a  perfect  Eden  of  beauty,  spare  a  httle  thought,  time,  and 
money  to  clear  away  the  weeds  from  over  their  deceased 
collateral  ancestors  ?  It  matters  little,  of  course ;  we  shall 
all  sleep  sound  under  any  coverlet ;  yet  if  I  were  an  O'Neill 
I  should  not  hke  to  see  those  nettles  growing  rampant  over 
my  forefathers'  bones. 

Scarcely  a  stone's-throw  from  this  gloomy  place  we 
came  out  suddenly  upon  the  glittering  expanse  of  Lough 
Neagh,  the  largest  lake  in  the  three  kingdoms,  twenty  miles 
long  by  fifteen  broad,  looking  like  an  inland  sea.  Not  a 
ship  or  a  boat  of  any  sort  dotted  its  vast,  smooth  surface ; 
its  long,  level  shores — for  there  is  not  a  mountain  near — 
added  to  the  sense  of  silent,  smiling,  contented  desolation. 

"  See  how  we  Irish  throw  away  our  blessings,"  said  my 
companion,  as  we  stood  looking  at  the  lovely  sight.  *'  In 
England  such  a  splendid  sheet  of  water  would  have  been 
utilized  in  many  ways,  and  made  a  centre  of  both  business 
and  pleasure.  Factories  would  have  spnmg  up  along  its 
shores;  yachts,  steamers,  fishing-boats,  would  have  covered 
it  from  end  to  end.  Now,  Moore's  solitaiy  fisherman,  who 
is  supposed  to  stray  on  its  banks 


12  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

'At  the  clear,  cold  eve's  declining' — 

(probably  bent  on  catching  puUan,  the  only  fish  attainable 
here) — might  easily  imagine  he  saw 

'  The  round  towers  of  other  days, 
In  the  wave  beneath  him  shining.' " 

"But  did  hef  I  was  foolish  enough  to  ask;  because 
most  fiction  has  a  grain  of  fact  at  its  core.  "  Was  there 
ever  anything  curious  seen  at  the  bottom  of  Lough 
Neaghf 

"I  have  dredged  it  from  end  to  end,  and  found  many 
submarine  curiosities,  but  never  a  round  tower  or  a  king's 
palace !  Even  the  fossilizing  power  which  is  said  to  be  in 
its  waters  I  believe  lies  not  in  the  lake  itself,  but  in  one  of 
its  tributaries,  the  Crumlin  river,  which  has  probably  the 
same  petrifying  and  preserving  qualities  that  exist  in  bog. 
At  any  rate,  the  fossil  wood,  which  is  often  found  in  the 
lough,  is  extremely  beautiful." 

"And  there  is  really  no  record  of  submerged  cities'?" 
said  I,  still  craving  after  my  pleasant  fiction.  "  The  waters 
must  cover  such  an  enormous  surface,  which  was  probably 
dry  land  once." 

"Yes.  It  is  said  that  about  a.d.  100  the  river  Bann 
overflowed,  and  drowned  a  prince  of  Ulster  with  all  his 
kingdom.  Or,  if  you  prefer  it,  your  own  Caxton  declared 
that  the  prince  and  his  people,  being 'men  of  evyle  lyving,' 
opened  a  holy  well  which  was  always  kept  closed.  A 
woman,  with  her  child,  went  to  draw  water ;  the  child  cried, 
she  ran  to  it,  leaving  the  well  uncovered,  when  up  welled 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  13 

the  waters,  destroying  the  whole  country — including  the 
woman  and  child.  This  is  said  to  have  happened  a.d.  65. 
So  you  can  choose  between  two  conflicting  dates  and  tradi- 
tions, and  please  yourself,  as  you  mostly  can  in  all  histories. 
But  here's  an  undeniable  '  fact ' — the  castle." 

Not  the  original  fortress,  built  by  the  first  O'Neill  on  the 
shores  of  Lough  Neagh,  with  the  good  right  hand  yet  left 
to  him,  but  the  half -modern,  half -mediaeval  one  which  was 
burned  to  the  ground  as  late  as  1816.  Its  ruins,  pictu- 
resque and  ivy-grown,  showed  what  a  fine  building  it  must 
have  been.  I  was  shown  "  Lord  O'Neill's  safe  " — a  sort  of 
cupboard  in  the  enormously  thick  wall — still  left  standing 
in  what  had  been  an  upper  room.  Also  the  black  stone, 
once  a  carved  head,  fixed  in  the  outer  masonry,  to  which 
clings  a  tradition  that  when  it  falls  the  family  of  O'Neill 
will  end. 

Of  course,  they  have  a  Banshee  —  all  real  old  Irish 
families  have.  Not  the  modem  Anglo-Ii*ish,  who  came 
over  with  Edmund  Spenser,  Oliver  Cromwell,  or  King 
James,  but  the  time  Celts.  A  friend,  whose  uncle  was 
present  at  the  burning  of  Shanes  Castle,  told  me  the  story 
of  it.  Lord  O'Neill  —  a  bachelor  —  had  a  party  of  gay 
bachelor  friends  dining  with  him.  In  the  midst  of  their 
jollifications  fire  broke  out  in  a  distant  room.  Nobody 
minded  it  much  at  first — nobody  does  mind  evil  in  Ireland 
till  too  late  to  mend  it — and  then  they  inquired  for  the 
fire-engine.  It  had  been  carried  off  that  very  day  a  dozen 
miles,  to  destroy  a  wasp's  nest  in  a  cottage  roof !  So  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  remove  the  pictures,  furniture, 


14  .       AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

and  valuables — or  as  miicli  of  them  as  they  could — and  let 
the  castle  burn.  Lord  O'Neill  and  his  companions,  who 
must  have  been  pretty  sober  now,  sat  on  an  old  box  and 
watched  it  burn.  With  the  lough  and  its  waters  only  a 
few  yards  off  they  yet  could  do  nothing,  unless  it  was  to 
curse  their  own  folly  in  letting  go  the  only  means  of  safety 
— the  fire-engine.  While  they  sat,  helplessly  gazing,  my 
friend's  uncle  always  declared  he  saw,  and  several  of  the 
other  guests  affirmed  the  same,  a  female  figure,  all  in  white, 
stand,  wringing  her  hands,  and  then  pass  and  repass  from 
window  to  window  of  the  burning  house,  in  which  they 
were  certain  there  was  no  living  creature.  Of  course,  it 
was  the  Banshee  of  the  O'Neills. 

After  this  no  one  attempted  to  rebuild  the  old  castle, 
but  a  new  one  was  planned  close  by,  its  foundation  being 
made  of  the  enormous  underground  passages  found  in 
many  ancient  fortresses ;  probably  meant  first  as  refuges 
in  war-time,  and  then  as  rooms  for  the  servants,  who  must 
have  been  treated  little  better  than  serfs,  or  brute  beasts. 

There  are  yet  living,  I  was  told,  persons  who  remember 
what  their  grandparents  have  said  about  the  manners  and 
customs  in  these  splendid  abodes,  Shanes  Castle  and  Antrim 
Castle ;  how  the  under-servants  were  never  allowed  to  ap- 
pear in  sight  of  the  family  or  guest ;  these  tunnel  -  hke 
places  being  made  that  they  might  get  out  to  the  town  or 
elsewhere,  unobserved  by  their  superiors. 

Doubtless  the  lower  class  were  not  pleasant  to  look  at 
then — no  more  than  they  are  now — to  "  your  honor "  and 
"  her  ladyship."     The  great  gulf  between  gentry  and  com- 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  15 

monalty  is  a  relic  of  those  barbaric  days,  which  seem  less 
distant  here  than  they  do  in  England,  where  the  constant 
immigration  of  other  races  has  brought  about  a  wider 
civilization.  One  can  hardly  enter  into  the  mind  of  that 
Lord  O'Neill  who,  when  his  castle  was  burned,  made  these 
underground  vaults,  dark,  damp,  and  unwholesome,  for  his 
servants  —  planning  for  himseK  an  enonnous  dining-hall 
and  reception  -  room,  the  walls  of  which  still  stand,  up 
to  the  window-ledges.  There  money  failed ;  the  building 
was  stopped,  the  builder  died.  His  wiser  successor  has 
converted  the  old  lord's  stables  into  a  comfortable 
modem  house,  farther  inland,  and  left  both  castles,  the 
ruined  old  one  and  the  never-finished  new  one,  to  moulder 
away  in  picturesque  peace  on  the  shores  of  lovely  Lough 
Neagh. 

Not  far  from  them  is  the  before  -  mentioned  garden 
called  "  The  Rockery,"  which  contains  rocks  of  the  same 
curious  formation  as  the  Giant's  Causeway.  Its  fertiUty  is 
wonderful.  Forests  of  rare  ferns,  lakelets  covered  with 
water -lihes  —  only  leaves,  it  was  too  late  for  flowers — 
masses  of  gorgeous  autumn  plants,  laid  out  in  borders 
and  beds,  made  it  a  little  nook  of  beauty.  A  tropcaolum^ 
the  finest  I  ever  saw,  chmbed  in  crimson  festoons  over 
the  black  basaltic  wall.  The  old  gardener  was  evidently 
very  proud  of  it. 

"  Sure,  ma'am,  I  trained  it  all  meeself.  Her  ladyship, 
she  said  to  me, '  John,  ye  must  have  planned  it  in  the 
night.'  And  bedad,  ma'am,  so  I  did.  There's  many  a  good 
thing  thought  of  in  the  night." 


1<J  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

He  showed  us  a  garden-house  built  of  "fogg" — i.e.  moss 
— ^most  cleverly,  even  artistically.  "  They  calls  me  John 
Fogg,  because  I  built  a  f ogg-house ;  but  there's  a  wran  here, 
she's  built  her  nest  in  that  bit  of  basalt.  Says  I  to  them, 
'  That  little  wran  can  build  a  better  house  than  John 
Fogg.' " 

This  man,  with  his  bright  eyes  gleaming  out  of  his 
queer,  ugly,  not  too  clean  face,  and  wearing  a  coat  and  hat 
that  any  English  gardener  would  have  utilized  for  a  scare- 
crow, yet  spoke  with  intelhgence,  humor,  nay,  even  poetry, 
and  with  a  charming  natural  courtesy  which  your  excellent 
stolid  Saxon  could  never  have  attained  to.  Hodge  would 
have  touched  his  decent  cap,  and  answered  our  questions 
with  a  "  Yes,  sir,"  and  "  No,  sir,"  receiving  the  eleemosy- 
nary shilling  with  a  civil  "  Thank  'ee,  sir."  But  as  to  con- 
versing with  us,  giving  us  his  sympathy  and  claiming  ours, 
imparting  all  sorts  of  information,  and  a  good  many  of 
his  individual  opinions  on  quite  extraneous  subjects — 
finally  parting  from  us  with  a  politeness  that  formed  an 
almost  ludicrous  contrast  to  his  ughness  and  his  rags — I 
must  confess  that  Paddy  had  the  best  of  it. 

But  now  the  afternoon  sun  was  slowly  declining,  and 
the  lough  growing  misty,  though  smooth  still — a  glassy 
miiTor  spread  beneath  the  cloudless  sky. 

"Yet  Lough  Neagh  can  be  rough.  I  have  seen,  the 
waves  come  rolling  in  on  these  shores  almost  like  a  sea 
tide.  And  though  it  is  never  more  than  forty-five  feet 
deep  anywhere,  and  its  lack  of  mountains  saves  it  from 
the  gusts  which  make  most  inland  lakes  so  dangerous, 


FROM  ANTRIM   TO    CUSHENDALL.  17 

still  there  are  days  when  no  boat  would  venture  out.  Our 
winters  are  stormy,  though  mild — as  you  may  see  by  the 
sort  of  vegetation  here"  —  pointing  to  the  large  fuchsia 
bushes,  almost  trees,  evidently  the  growth  of  many  years. 
"Only  once  have  I  seen  Lough  Neagh  frozen  over — in  1880 
— when  I  skated  across  it  quite  alone,  to  that  point  you  see, 
twenty  miles  there  and  back." 

A  rather  risky  proceeding,  I  thought,  for  the  father  of  a 
family,  but  for  once  I  did  not  speak  my  mind,  being  ab- 
sorbed in  the  large,  calm  beauty  of  this  islandless  lake. 

"  It  has  one  island,"  my  friend  said,  "  though  you  can 
hardly  see  it ;  a  tiny  dot  of  about  six  acres,  with  pretty 
woods,  and  a  round  tower.  We  sometimes  picnic  there — 
Little  Rani's  Island,  opposite  Balinderry." 

What  strange  flashes  of  remembrance  come  sometimes ! 
Many,  many  years  ago,  I  had  heard  at  a  concert — of  which 
the  singers  are  aU  dead,  and  probably  most  of  the  audi- 
ence, except  one  or  two  old  folks,  who  then  were  young — a 
lovely  old  Irish  song: 

"'Tis  pretty  to  be  in  Balinderry, 
'Tis  pretty  to  be  in  Aghalee, 
But  'tis  prettier  to  be  in  Little  Ram's  Island 
Courting  under  the  ivy-tree. 

Ochonc I   Ochono I 

"For  often  I  roved  in  Little  Ram's  Island 
Side  by  side  with   riieliniy   Ilyland; 
And  still  he'd  court  and  I'd  be  coy, 
Though  at  heart  I  loved  him,  my  handsome  boy. 

Ochone !  Ochono  !" 

I  never  could  understand  that  wailing  "  Ochoue !"  till — a 


18  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

lifetime  after — I  heard  the  rest  of  the  song,  in  a  modern- 
ized version,  founded  upon  Bunting's  collection.  It  is 
about  one  Mary,  who  would  never  own  her  love  for  her 
"  handsome  boy  "  till  just  before  he  left. 

"  '  I'm  going,'  he  sighed,  '  from  Balinderry, 
Out  and  across  the  stormy  sea, 
And  if  in  your  heart  ye  love  me,  Mary, 
Open  your  arms  at  last  to  me/ 

She  did : 

"  And  there  in  the  gloom  of  the  groaning  mast, 
We  kissed  our  first  and  we  kissed  our  last. 

"  'Twas  happy  to  be  in  Little  Ram's  Island, 
But  now  it's  as  sad  as  sad  can  be. 
For  the  ship  that  sailed  with  Phelimy  Ilyland 
Is  sunk  forever  beneath  the  sea. 

Ochone !    Ochone !" 

That  sweet,  sad  refrain !  I  could  hear  it  as  if  it  were 
yesterday.  And  now,  after  forty  years,  I  had  come  in 
sight  of  "  Little  Ram's  Island"  and  "  BaHnderry." 

"We  must  take  you  there.  We  will  get  a  boat  and 
make  an  expedition  to-mon'ow.  It  is  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  lough,  but  we  iciJl  manage  it." 

An  Irishman  can  manage  anything,  when  he  has  per- 
sistency as  well  as  energy.  So  I  smiled  consent,  and  we 
drove  merrily  home." 

August  18. — Alas!  fate,  and  his  country's  eccentric 
climate,  can  conquer  even  an  Irishman.  Next  morning  it 
rained — as  only  it  can  rain  in  the  Green  Island.  When  in 
the  afternoon  it  cleared,  in  the  amazingly  sudden  way  that 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  19 

it  does  clear  here,  there  was  no  hope  for  an  expedition 
which  would  have  involved  about  sixteen  miles  of  hard 
rowing.     It  was  too  late  for  Little  Rani's  Island. 

Instead,  I  proposed  to  go  and  see  the  church.  We  had 
been  sitting  talking  over  many  things  —  which  being  po- 
Utical  and  ecclesiastical,  I  shall  not  refer  to  here,  except  to 
record  two  facts,  which  I  afterwards  heard  confiiTQed  by 
much  extraneous  evidence.  The  Irish  Church,  instead  of 
suffering,  has  actually  benefited  by  Disestablishment,  since 
the  cessation  of  state  support  has  turned  towards  it  the 
thoughtful  benevolence  of  laymen  and  land-owners.  Also, 
the  Catholic  priesthood  of  the  north  of  Ireland  are  gener- 
ally of  a  superior  class,  and  the  Catholic  population  is  fully 
as  trustworthy  as  the  Protestant.  Sometimes  more  so, 
since  they  have  less  of  theological  bitterness  than  the  de- 
scendants of  the  Scottish  immigrants,  who  were  chiefly 
the  narrowest  type  of  Presbyterians. 

"  I  have  sat  for  fifteen  years  in  your  church,  sir,"  said  a 
parishioner  of  this  kind,  giving  notice  that  he  meant  to 
quit  it.  "And  all  that  time  I  never  heard  you  preach  a 
single  Protestant  sermon." 

That  is,  a  sennon  which  not  merely  attests  one's  own 
faith,  but  protests  against  the  faith  of  everybody  who 
thinks  differently — which  is  a  veiy  general  interpretation 
of  the  word  "  Protestant " — making  the  most  conscientious 
of  us  feel  sometimes  as  if  we  would  rather  be  Catliolics. 
I  could  not  help  recalling  the  words — too  little  recalled 
now! — 

"//  wan  mid  of  old ^  Thou  almlt  love  thy  neighbor  and  hate 


20  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

thine  enemy.  But  I  say  unto  you — "  Bo  the  good  Prot- 
estants of  Ireland  ever  pause  to  remember  what  was  said, 
and  Who  said  it. 

Antrim  Chnrch  dates  from  the  fifteenth  century,  but 
the  glass  window  over  the  grand  pew — Lord  Massereene's 
— must  be  older  even  than  that.  No  one  knows  how  it 
came  there.  It  is  composed  entirely  of  those  pale  tints 
which  belong  to  the  earliest  form  of  colored  glass,  and 
divided  into  two  parts,  one  representing  the  Virgin  with 
saints,  the  other  the  death  of  John  the  Baptist,  who  has 
the  comfortable  expression  peculiar  to  most  medisevally- 
painted  martyrs.  The  daughter  of  Herodias  stands  beside 
him  with  her  charger ;  in  the  distance  is  seen  Herod  at  his 
banquet. 

The  httle  church  has  another  curiosity  Its  silver 
communion  plate,  flagon,  paten,  and  chalice  are  inscribed, 
"The  gift  of  Madam  Abigail  Pamell  to  y'  Parish  of 
Antrim,  a.d.  1701."  And  in  the  old  register  book  is  the 
record,  "  Abigail  Pamell,  buried  1715."  But  the  grave  of 
this  excellent  woman  —  for  local  tradition  reports  her  to 
have  been  really  an  excellent  woman  —  is  altogether  lost 
No  stone  marks  it,  no  one  knows  where  it  is.  Could  not 
her  "  dear  distant  descendant,"  world-known  now,  spare  a 
few  hours  of  his  time,  and  a  few  pounds  of  his  money,  to 
save  from  total  oblivion  the  name  of  his  paternal  great- 
grandmother,  Abigail  Parnell  '''i 

Had  her  burial  been  within  the  time  of  the  present 
sexton,  she  would  not  have  been  forgotten.  "Sam"  has 
a  wonderful  memory.      Out   of   his  clear  recollection  of 


FROM  ANTRIM   TO    CUSHENDALL.  21 

every  person  he  has  buried  for  the  last  half-ceiitury,  there 
has  been  constructed  a  chart  of  the  graveyard,  so  that  no 
new-comer  of  the  defunct  parishioners  of  Antrim  can  ever 
interfere  with  another.  Being  congi-atulated  on  this  by 
the  bishop  of  the  diocese,  Sam  is  reported  to  have  answered, 
"  That  he  remembered  his  lordship's  first  sermon  in  that 
church  forty  years  ago. 

"  I  told  the  text  of  it  to  my  old  woman.  It  was  a  very 
fine  sermon;  and  your  lordship  preached  for  two  hours 
and  a  half." 

The  good  bishop  (he  is  living  still)  turned  away  smihng, 
and  dived  no  more  into  the  dangerous  depths  of  Sam's  pre- 
ternatural memory. 

As  we  left  the  church  the  day  again  clouded  over, 
though  it  was  mild  and  pleasant  still.  We  turned  into  An- 
trim Castle,  Lord  Massereene's,  by  the  only  entrance  now 
open,  the  stable  gates ;  startling  a  collection  of  fowls  and 
children,  who  seemed  masters  of  the  melancholy  spot — for 
a  dismantled,  uninhabited  house  always  looks  melancholy. 
Repairs  were  going  on,  and  the  pictures  and  furniture  were 
all  swathed  up,  but  we  could  see  the  fine  proportions  of  the 
old  rooms,  built  in  1662,  though  the  original  castle  must 
have  been  standing  in  the  thirteenth  centmy.  A  "rath" 
still  exists  in  the  gardens  (for  the  Saxon  readers  I  should 
explain  that  raths  are  earthen  mounds,  into  which  the 
ancient  Irish  used  to  drive  their  cattle,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, for  protection  in,  war-time),  showing  that  Antiim 
dates  from  very  ancient  times. 

The  one  curiosity  of  the  castle  is  the  Speaker's  chair, 


22  A^   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

out  of  the  old  Irish  Parhament.  At  its  last  sitting,  on  the 
10th  of  June,  1800,  the  speaker,  the  Right  Honorable  John 
Foster,  who  had  been  violently  opposed  to  the  Union,  took 
the  chair  and  mace  away  with  him  and  refused  to  deliver 
them  up,  declaring  that  he  would  keep  both  till  they  were 
wanted  for  his  successor,  when  there  was  again  a  parlia- 
ment in  College  Green.  But  he  died  without  seeing  this; 
and  his  son,  marrying  the  Viscountess  Massereene,  carried 
off  the  treasures  to  Antrim  Castle,  "  to  be  kept  till  called 
for."  The  mace  we  did  not  see,  but  of  the  chair  I  can 
record  that  it  is  a  very  comfortable  one  to  sit  in.  Whether 
its  future  tenant  would  find  it  so,  if  placed  in  a  Dublin 
Parliament,  is  an  open  question/ 

Dull  and  gray  as  the  day  was,  my  companions  deter- 
mined that  I  should  not  leave  Antrim  without  having  had 
one  sail — with  oars  and  without  sails,  for  that  I  insisted 
on — upon  the  broad,  calm  bosom  of  Lough  Neagh.  So  we 
secured  a  boat  and  man,  and  floated  leisurely  down  the 
Six-Mile  Water,  as  it  is  called,  a  river,  quiet  as  a  duck-pond, 
towards  the  lake.  Broad  Lough  Neagh  was,  but  decidedly 
not  calm ;  in  spite  of  old  Peter  and  his  two  well-handled 
oars,  we  felt  as  helpless  among  the  big  waves  as  if  we 
were  dancing  up  and  down  in  a  cockle-shell.  Nor  did 
any  sense  of  the  poetical  alleviate  the  discomfort  of  the 
practical. 

"  Round  towers,  did  ye  say,  ma'am '?  Masther  Moore  " 
(how  did  Peter  ever  hear  of  Masther  Moore  ?)  "  wrote  a 
power  o'  nonsense  about  us  fishermen,  an'  what  we  saw. 
I  knows  the  bottom  of  the  lough,  every  yard  of  it,  and 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  23 

there's  no  round  towers  there,  nor  castles  nayther ;  nothing 
but  fish,  and  mighty  few  o'  them." 

And  then  he  opened  up  energetically  on  the  subject  of 
fishing  rights,  or  wrongs,  of  which  he  seemed  to  have  a 
good  many;  diverging  afterwards  to  the  question  of  eels, 
and  the  best  mode  of  killing  them,  which  was  equally 
instructive.  A  curious  mixture  of  Irish  and  Scotch  was 
this  same  Peter,  keen  and  canny,  though  withal  given  to 
"  take  it  aisy,"  as,  except  when  passion  and  prejudices  are 
concerned,  is  the  way  all  over  Ireland.  He  evidently 
rather  despised  us  for  turning  back,  but  we  ourselves  were 
not  sorry  to  exchange  the  big  waves  of  Lough  Neagh  for 
the  placidity  of  Six-Mile  Water,  and  the  safe  shelter  of  the 
family  hearth  afterwards. 

We  had  a  cheerful  evening,  though  sprinkled  with  much 
political  and  religious  talk,  which  I  must  ignore  here.  Yet 
in  Irish  social  life,  just  now,  it  is  impossible  to  ignore  it. 
The  heart  of  the  country  is  full  to  bursting;  it  cannot  hold 
its  tongue. 

In  England  all  shades  of  opinion  are  mixed  up  whole- 
somely together.  The  phlegmatic  Saxon  may  differ  from 
his  neighbor  at  the  polling  booth,  or  regret  that  he  goes  to 
another  church,  perhaps  no  church  at  all ;  so  much  so  that 
he  would  not  like  the  said  neighbor  to  be  intimate  in  his 
family,  or  marry  his  daughter.  But  he  meets  him  at  din- 
ner-parties, and  in  railway  trains,  and  interchanges  social 
amenities  with  him  without  the  slightest  hesitation.  He 
does  not  think  it  necessary  to  knock  a  man  down  for 
presuming  to  differ  from  himself  as  to  the  government  of 


24  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

their  common  country,  or  to  condemn  him  to  eternal  perdi- 
tion for  wishing  to  enter  heaven  hy  another  road  than  his 
own.     But  in  Ireland — alas !  alas ! 

However,  even  there  are  some  calm -minded,  sweet- 
natured  Christian  men  of  all  parties,  who  dare  to  hold 
the  balance  even,  and  cross  the  hne  of  social  demarca- 
tion, which  in  most  cases  is  drawn  sharp  as  if  made  of 
swords. 

"  I  would  not  contradict  Mr,  Blank,  for  he  means  well, 
and  he  does  not  like  contradiction,"  said  to  me  one  of  these, 
when  I  had  been  listening — mentally  engaged  the  while  in 
the  interesting  process  of  dividing  truth  from  imagination 
— to  an  energetic  Orangeman  who,  apropos  of  the  Belfast 
troubles,  had  given  me  a  long  account  of  other  riots  long 
ago,  which  I  had  never  heard  of.  "  But  it  is  only  fair  to 
explain  to  you  that  the  Catholics,  not  the  Protestants, 
began  these  disturbances,  and  that  afterwards,  to  my  cer- 
tain knowledge,  several  benevolent  Catholic  families  joined 
together  to  recompense  the  sufferers." 

"And  how  do  you,  with  your  wide  experience,  judge 
between  Catholics  and  Protestants  ?" 

He  smiled — the  large-hearted  smile  of  a  just  and  good 
man.  "  I  judge  not  at  all,  I  merely  act.  I  do  my  best  for 
everybody,  without  distinction  of  creed.  As  a  rule  I  find 
my  Cathohc  neighbors  quite  as  easy  to  live  beside  as  the 
Protestants.  They  often  send  for  me  when  they  are  sick 
or  dying,  and  I  always  go.  The  priest  and  I  are  very  good 
friends — in  matters  of  charity  we  often  work  into  one  an- 
other's hands.     Why  not  f 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  25 

Why  not,  indeed !  If  it  were  oftener  so,  how  much  bet- 
ter for  poor  Ireland ! 

August  19th. — There  is,  I  have  noticed,  a  curious  cer- 
tainty underlying  the  proverbial  uncertainty  of  the  Irish 
chmate.  A  very  bad  day  is  not  unfrequently  followed  by 
a  good  one — a  day  so  heavenly  that  you  feel,  if  the  world 
always  looked  Uke  this,  you  would  scarcely  wish  for  para- 
dise. We  had  many  such  on  our  journey,  but  none  love- 
her  than  this  day,  when  again  we  thought  of  the  voyage 
to  Little  Ram's  Island.  But,  alas,  it  was  impossible.  My 
young  companions  would  be  waiting  for  me,  ready  to  start 
on  the  coast-road  to-morrow.  I  ought  to  be  at  Larne  to- 
night, and  even  my  practical  host  and  kindly  hostess  con- 
fessed that  once  aHoat  on  Lough  Neagh,  there  was  no 
saying  when  we  might  be  back  again.  No,  I  must  not  be 
faithless — Ram's  Island  could  not  be  done. 

''  But  we  will  not  waste  this  lovely  day  Let  us  walk 
over  to  Steeple  and  see  the  Round  Tower  there.  Your 
artist "  (who  had  preceded  me  at  Shanes  Castle,  and  else- 
where) thought  it  exceedingly  fine — indeed,  it  is  considered 
the  most  perfect  Round  Tower  yet  remaining  in  Ireland. 
And  possibly  it  gave  the  name  to  the  estate  in  which  it 
stands,  for  it  is  supposed  to  have  been  used  as  a  steeple  or 
belfry." 

A  pleasant  walk  took  us  to  this  fine  specimen  of  these 
mysterious  towers,  found  all  over  Ireland,  about  which 
there  has  been  so  much  speculation;  but  of  whose  date  of 
building — and  builders — nothing  has  ever  been  discovered. 


26 


AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 


Pre-Christian    they    must    have    been, 
though  afterwards  used  for  Christian 
purposes,  as  this  one.     A  cross  en- 
closed in  a  circle  is  cut  in  stone 
over  its   doorway,  and   at   the 
top  are  the  remains  of  a  beam 
placed   across,  upon   which   a 
bell  probably  swung.     Its  ex- 
quisite proportions— being  over 
fifty  feet  in  circumference  at 


^"' 

,»#«  m.._ 

..         ■  ■,^fc^'E    .:    ■    ^"                 ' 

\ 

:ffm^              -^fiiiS 

&<tt^ 

m^ 

ttpWStEiS^. 

^^4* 


KOUND     TOWEK,    ANTKIM. 
{From  a  Drauing  by  F.  Noki.  Paton.) 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  27 

the  base  and  tapering  gradually  upwards  —  were  very- 
striking.  Strange  to  see  it  in  this  pretty  modem  garden, 
and  think  of  the  hands  that  built  it — the  long-dead  hands 
of  an  altogether  vanished  race. 

"Yes,  it's  a  fine  tower,  and  it  made  such  a  splendid 
play-place  for  us  boys,"  said  the  owner,  who  must  have 
been  a  boy  a  good  while  ago.  "  It  was  struck  by  lightning 
in  1822,  and  had  to  be  repaired.  My  father  was  always 
rather  proud  of  it  and  careful  over  it,  but  we  boys  only 
thought  of  our  play.  We  used  to  creep  in  at  the  doorway 
and  look  up  to  the  top  —  ninety-three  feet  it  is  —  where 
there  are  four  slits  of  windows,  east,  west,  north,  and  south, 
exact  to  the  points  of  the  compass.  We  thought  it  a  pity 
so  much  good  space  should  be  lost,  so  one  day  we  got  a 
ladder  inside,  climbed  up  it,  and  laid  planks  across  on  the 
rough  masonry,  making  a  sort  of  loft.  Then  we  planned 
another  a  httle  higher — I  think  there  were  three  lofts  in 
all — and  we  used  to  clamber  up  and  down  them.  Oh !  it 
was  great  fun !" 

Very  likely.  Thus  goes  the  world  away.  The  handi- 
work of  those  unknown  primeval  people  turned  into  a 
"  splendid  play-place  "  for  the  boys  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury! Yet — what  matters?  Good  work  has  always  good 
uses — and  finds  a  good  end.  So  let  the  sun  shine  on  this 
silent  Round  Tower,  which  keeps  its  secret  with  such  a 
cheerful  smile,  and  on  the  equally  smiling  garden  below  it, 
wliich  must  have  been  a  burying-ground,  *  f or  human  re- 
mains were  found  when  digging  the  flower-beds  —  which 
in  their  masses  of  gorgeous  color  were  a  delight  to  the 


28  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

eyes.  Thence  we  passed  to  the  kitchen  -  garden  —  such  a 
garden !  the  first  of  many  which  I  afterwards  saw,  and 
which  awoke  in  me  the  saddest  sense  of  how  Ireland 
wastes  her  hlessings — blessings  of  soil  and  climate  equal, 
or  superior,  to  any  European  land. 

While  Irish  cottage-gardens  scarcely  exist  at  all,  the 
gardens  of  ''  the  gentry  "  are  in  many  cases  quite  remark- 
able for  fertility  and  beauty.  Generally  they  are  four- 
square, protected  by  a  solid  stone  wall  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  feet  high,  with  a  little  gate — alas,  too  often  locked, 
and  they  say,  obliged  to  be  locked,  for  poor,  ignorant  Paddy 
cannot  as  yet  be  taught  to  see  that  the  fruits  of  the  earth, 
like  the  fowls  of  the  air,  are  not  as  much  his  as  his  mas- 
ter's. Within  this  sheltered  space,  flowers,  fruit,  and  vege- 
tables flourish  altogether  in  wonderful  luxuriance. 

Oh,  what  a  garden  to  possess !  literally  rampant  with 
plenty.  Flower  -  borders  on  either  side  the  neat  gravel 
walks ;  beyond  these,  long  lines  of  gooseberry  -  bushes, 
heavy  with  fruit,  smooth  or  hairy,  yellow,  green,  and  red ; 
and  espaliers  laden  with  fast  ripening  apples  and  pears. 
As  for  the  raspberry-bushes,  they  were  a  perfect  forest,  six 
or  seven  feet  high — into  which  some  one  I  blush  to  name 
disappeared  in  the  very  middle  of  an  interesting  archaeolog- 
ical argument,  and  was  missing  for  several  minutes !  And 
the  vegetables,  which,  being  kept  in  good  order,  were  al- 
most as  pretty  as  flowers — it  was  a  treat  to  see  the  gigan- 
tic old-fashioned  artichokes,  the  rows  of  late  pease  and  ear- 
ly scarlet  -  runners,  and  the  dark -red  leaves  of  the  beet- 
root contrasting  with  the  bright  green  of  the  early  kale. 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  29 

"  What  a  delight  this  garden  must  be !  What  a  pleas- 
ure to  turn  into  it  a  handful  of  holiday  children  —  good 
children,  who  could  be  trusted  not  to  eat  themselves  ill. 
How  nice  to  walk  round  it  with  a  big  basket  and  think 
what  one  could  send  to  friends  who  had  no  garden  of  their 
own — gifts  that  cost  little  to  the  donor,  and  are  to  the  re- 
ceiver a  priceless  boon." 

They  would  be  here  certainly;  for  I  was  told  that  in 
Antrim,  as  in  many  a  little  countiy  town,  fruit  and  vege- 
tables are  almost  unattainable. 

"Nobody  thinks  of  cultivating  them  —  nobody  knows 
how  to  do  it.  The  cottager  plants  his  bit  of  ground  with 
potatoes,  and,  perhaps,  a  few  beans — he  never  aims  at  any- 
thing beyond.  As  for  growing  vegetables  or  finiit  to  sell, 
such  an  idea  never  enters  his  mind.  He  would  not  do  it 
even  for  himself,  he  would  prefer  to  live  on  potatoes  all  the 
year  round.  Alas!  in  Ireland  as  elsewhere — but  more  in 
Ireland  than  elsewhere — the  great  difficulty  is  to  get  people 
to  tiike  trouble.^' 

"But,"  I  urged,  "though  revolutions  generally  come 
from  below,  refonnations  come  from  above.  It  is  the 
upper  classes  who  must  educate  the  lower,  and  by  practical 
aid  and  example  rather  than  preaching.  Suppose  some 
enterprising  horticulturist  were  to  start  a  market -garden, 
he  might  do  wonders  with  this  fine  climate  and  fertile  soil, 
and  by  employing  labor  scatter  among  the  poor  money  as 
well  as  instruction." 

My  companion  shook  his  head  sadly.  "Utopian — 
Utopian !      Your   market  -  gardener  might   raise    produce, 


30  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

but  he  would  never  sell  it.  And  your  laborer  would  never 
work.  The  Irish  peasant  has  little  notion  of  either  luxury 
or  comfort.  Now,  especially,  he  has  lost  all  heart.  His 
patience  is  wonderful,  and  so  is  his  uncomplaining  endur- 
ance. But  he  never  tries  to  resist  misfortune  or  avoid  it. 
He  would  sit  and  let  his  cabin  drop  to  pieces  over  his  head 
before  he  would  bestir  himself  to  mend  it." 

The  speaker  was  Irish,  and  had  lived  in  Ireland  nearly 
all  his  days.  Alas!  I  found  then,  and  often  afterwards, 
that  the  most  hopeless  about  the  future  of  Ireland  are  the 
Irish  themselves. 

"But  don't  let  us  talk.  Come  and  see  the  Witch's 
Stone — here — among  the  cucumber  frames.  She  was  an 
energetic   Irishwoman  —  she  leaped  from  the  top  of  the 


THE    WITCH  S    STONE. 
(From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Noki,   Paton.) 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  31 

Round  Tower.  You  can  see  the  mark  of  her  elbow  and 
knee  where  she  ahghted." 

So  we  could.  It  was  evidently  one  of  those  flat  Druidi- 
cal  stones,  supposed  to  be  used  for  human  sacrifices.  The 
httle  circular  holes,  now  filled  with  innocent  rain  -  water, 
were  made  to  receive  the  victim's  blood.  Surely  we  have 
gained  a  few  steps  in  civilization  since  then.  Life  is  held 
of  more  value,  and  made  a  httle  more  pleasant  and  com- 
fortable. 

"Pleasant!  comfortable!  Our  poorer  classes  hardly 
understand  the  words.  They  are  half  barbaric  still.  And 
yet  there  are  in  them  certain  qualities,  mental  and  moral, 
which  are  altogether  lacking  in  your  English  and  Scotch 
peasant.  And  what  the  land  is  —  how  rich  and  plentiful 
it  might  be  made,  and  is  made,  when  the  lords  of  the  soil 
take  trouble  with  it — ^you  have  but  to  look  round  on  this 
garden  and  see." 

So  talked  we — I  will  not  vouch  for  the  words,  but  I 
will  for  the  substance  —  till  we  reached  the  friendly  door 
which  I  was  so  soon  to  leave,  and  found  waiting  there  a 
good-looking  young  fellow  of  nineteen  or  so — not  exactly 
in  rags,  but  very  poorly  clad.  He  had  come  to  speak  about 
his  marriage!  for  the  expenses  of  which  his  friends  had 
subscribed  five  shillings. 

"  Yes ;  that  is  how  we  do  it  in  Ireland,"  explained  my 
friend.  "  And,  perhaps,  you  may  say  it  is  the  cause  of  our 
misery — and  serve  us  right.  But  what  is  poor  Paddy  to 
do  ?  The  best  part  of  his  life  is  his  youth.  Oiu*  peasantry 
marry  as  mere  boys  and  girls;  but — they  do  marry;  and 


32  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

they  very  seldom  break  the  marriage-vow.  Consequently 
they  rear  up  a  brood,  wild  and  numerous  as  young  pigs  or 
chickens,  but  healthy  and  strong;  the  wholesome  children 
of  virtuous  parents.  On  this  point  of  strict  morality,  the 
pivot  upon  which  society  turns,  there  is  not  a  country 
in  Europe — statistics  prove  it — which  can  compare  with 
Ireland." 

A  few  hours  more  and  I  had  left  Antrim  behind  me, 
with  all  its  pleasant  recollections,  and  was  safely  landed  at 
Lame — there  to  pick  up  my  young  flock  and  continue  my 
journey, 

August  20tli. — One  of  the  reasons  often  given  against 
traveUing  in  Ireland  is  that  there  are  no  hotels  fit  for 
tourists  who  have  any  sense  of  cleanliness  or  comfort; 
which  was  true  enough  some  years  ago,  but  is  not  now. 
For  the  encouragement  of  those  who  wish  to  see  the  won- 
drous beauties  of  this  almost  unknown  country,  I  shall  set 
down  those  places  where  the  weary  traveller  need  not  fear 
to  lay  his  head,  as  I  did  mine,  and  woke  up  to  the  lovehest 
morning  and  an  unimpeachable  breakfast,  at  the  Older- 
fleet  Hotel,  Larne. 

To  feel  "fresh  as  a  lark"— though  pretty  well  on  in 
years  and  of  limited  physical  capacities — one  requires  to 
have  slept  in  a  good  bed,  with  quiet  surroundings.  All 
these  are  attainable  at  the  Olderfleet,  which  was  built  near 
the  site  of  an  old  castle  by  the  late  Mr.  James  Chaine,  to 
whom  Larne  owes  its  harbor,  its  steam  communication 
with  Stranraer,  and  much  of  its  prosperity.  He  must  have 
been  a  remarkable  man,  full  of  benevolence  and  of  untiring 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO    CUSHENDALL.  33 

energy.  The  talk  of  the  neighborhood  attributes  his  pain- 
fully sudden  death  to  his  exertions  in  organizing  the  recep- 
tion and  departure  of  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales. 
Two  days  afterwards,  his  kindly  hand,  the  last  they 
touched  in  leaving  Ireland,  lay  still  in  death.  Gossip — 
too  new  to  be  tradition — declares  that  he  left  orders  to  be 
buried  in  a  sitting  posture  on  a  little  hill,  whence  he  could 
overlook  his  beloved  Larne  Harbor.  A  strange  fancy, 
which  recalls  the  burials  of  the  old  Norse  heroes.  But  be 
this  as  it  may,  the  good  Belfast  merchant  was  a  hero  in 
his  way,  and  has  left  two  sons  who  well  may  follow  in 
his  steps. 

His  influence  has  greatly  helped  on  civilization.  In- 
quiring how  we  could  traverse  the  splendid  coast -road 
between  Lame  and  the  Giant's  Causeway,  we  found  that 
an  energetic  Mr.  MacNeiU  had  organized  a  system  of 
tourist  and  private  cars,  with  good  horses,  and  capable, 
steady  drivers.  No  fear  of  driving  over  a  pig,  as  I  remem- 
ber doing  in  the  streets  of  Belfast  about  thirty  years  ago, 
and  being  answered,  as  the  creature  ran  limping  away, 
"  Och,  miss,  sure  an'  we  often  do  it.  It  doesn't  hurt  them." 
As  for  our  driver,  he  looked  sober  as  a  judge ;  an  honest, 
kindly  young  fellow,  whom  everybody  knew.  And  his 
vehicle  was  not  an  outside  car,  which  the  timorous  English 
mind  expected,  but  a  comfortable  wagonet. 

Merrily  we  started,  I  and  my  third  young  friend,  and 

picked  up  the  other  two  stray  lambs  from  theu'  deUghtful 

temporary  fold,  where  they  had  been  shown  no  end  of 

kindness.      They   had   seen   several    curious    things  —  an 

3 


34  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

ancient  cromlech,  near  the  landing-place  of  Larne;  the 
Giant's  Cradle ;  a  rocking-stone,  said  still  to  rock  when  any 
criminal  approaches  it;  the  village  of  Glynn,  with  its 
ruined  church,  and  other  places ;  one  always  hears  after- 
wards of  so  many  things  left  nnvisited.  But  the  great 
thing  is  to  see  all  one  can,  and  enjoy  all  one  can. 

As  we  certainly  did ;  driving  along  the  splendid  road, 
a  triumph  of  engineering,  with  overhanging  cliffs  on  the 
left,  and  on  our  right  the  open  sea,  as  blue  and  bright  as 
the  MediteiTanean.  Indeed,  for  many  things,  the  road 
along  the  Riviera,  which  we  go  so  far  to  see,  is  scarcely 
finer  than  this  one,  at  our  very  doors.  It  wandered  in  and 
out,  sometimes  skirting  tiny  bays,  sometimes  cut  through 
solid  limestone  rock,  which  is  left  in  arches,  but  always 
carried  high  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  which  in  winter 
rages  so  furiously  that  the  Two  Maidens,  lighthouses  nine 
miles  off,  are  for  weeks  shut  out  from  all  communication 
with  the  mainland. 

But  now  the  water  lay  still  as  a  lake,  and  one  could 
easily  trace  the  opposite  coast  of  Scotland;  whence  came 
invaders,  harrying  all  the  land,  driving  the  native  Irish  into 
inland  bogs,  and  colonizing  the  sea-board  with  a  population 
who  remain  half  Scottish,  both  in  names  and  national  char- 
acteristics, to  this  day,  along  all  the  Antrim  shore. 

What  a  lovely  shore  it  was !  Its  beauties  kept  chang- 
ing minute  by  minute.  There  were  the  Corn -sacks  of 
Ballygally  Head,  basaltic  pillars,  of  a  formation  similar  to 
the  Giant's  Causeway;  the  detached  rock  on  which  are 
the  few  remains  of  Cairns  Castle,  and  many  another  huge 


m\ 


%« '^ 


'''^f^-x 


a**C 


rock, 

overhanging 
—  and    some- 
times   in    winter 
actually    falling   on 
the  narrow  road. 

Glenarm  is  a  sweet 
little  bay,  which  gives  its 
name  to  a  comparatively  mod- 
em    castle ;    owned    by    the 
MacDonnells,  and  bearing  an 
inscription   that    it    was    built 
"  with  the  leave  of  God,"  by  Sir 
Randle    MacDonnell,    Earl    of 
Antrim,   "having   to   his   wife 

Dame  Aellis  O'Neill,"  in  1636.  Excursionists  often  come 
from  Belfast  for  a  pleasant  day  there,  but  we  were  obliged 
to  pass  on,  being  due  at  Cushendall  that  afternoon. 

"Your  half-way  house  is  Canilough,  where  you  can 


AT  OARRON  POINT. 
{From  a  Drawing  by  P.  Nokx.  Patow.) 


36  AN  UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

luncli ;  we  always  did,"  said  a  too-confiding  friend ;  and, 
lured  by  another  of  these  charming  little  hays  which  con- 
tinually indent  the  coast,  we  stopped  there. 

To  our  cost.  Why  is  it  that  in  Ireland  it  seems  so 
difficult,  next  to  impossible,  that  windows  should  be  made 
to  open,  and  doors  to  shut  ?  that  soap  and  water,  brooms, 
brushes,  and  scouring-flannel  should  be  almost  unattainable 
luxuries  ?  Why,  when  in  despair  we  went  out  and  "  wan- 
dered by  the  brook -side,"  a  really  pretty  brook,  travel- 
ling seawards,  should  we  find  ourselves  reminded  of  Santa 
Lucia,  at  Naples,  than  which,  to  those  who  know  the  place, 
no  prettier  word  has  an  uglier  sound  ? 

I  hear  that  the  Carnlough  Hotel  will  change  hands  this 
year,  and  so  shall  hold  my  tongue  about  it,  except  earnestly 
to  advise  the  in-coming  tenant  to  spend  a  few  pounds  in 
paint  and  paper,  and  a  few  shillings  more  in  brooms  and 
brushes,  which,  with  one  or  two  decent  servants  and  a  ca- 
pable mistress,  would  make  this  little  inn  a  most  pleas- 
ant permanent  halting -place  on  the  beautiful  coast  road. 
How  pretty  its  surroundings  are,  our  artist,  who  went 
ahead  of  us,  and  suffered  as  we  did,  here  has  plainly 
shown. 

Grarron  Point,  a  few  miles  farther  on,  was  a  delight  to 
our  eyes ;  and  we  longed  to  climb  up  the  winding  road  at 
the  left  to  Garron  Tower,  a  small  castle  belonging  to  the 
Marquis  of  Londonderry,  planted  on  a  table-land,  with  the 
sea  below  and  the  hills  above.  Its  gardens  and  grounds 
are  said  to  be  very  fine,  and  its  sea-views  magnificent. 
But  we  had  no  time  to  stay  and  examine  it,  though  this  is 


COTTAGES  KEAR  QARRON  TOWER, 
{From  a  Drawing  bj/  F.  Noki.  Paton.) 


easily  clone 
by  getting  an  ad- 
mission at  the  estate 
office,    Camlough.       We 
felt  we  must  hurry  on.     For 
the  bright  day  was  clouding  over, 
and  we  had   still  a  good  many 
miles  before  us. 

Headland  after  headland  appeared  and  disappeared ;  the 
sea  turned  gray  instead  of  blue ;  the  road  seemed  to  wind 
in  and  out  in  ceaseless  curves.  Curiously-shaped  rocks, 
with  still  odder  names — one  I  remember,  called  the  Spin- 
ning-woman, and  veiy  like  a  sitting  woman  it  was — wei*e 
pointed  out  from  time  to  time.  Also,  we  kept  looking  out 
for  certain  picturesque  cottages  which  had  caught  our 
artist's  fancy,  and  which  are  here  depicted,  and  for  a  small 


38  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

railway  and  quay  made  for  some  iron  mines  up  one  of 
these  Antrim  glens,  now  dilapidated  and  apparently  dis- 
used. 

"  And  there  is  Margery  Bisset's  castle,"  cried  one  of  us, 
who  had  been  here  before,  and  who  claimed  to  be  a  de- 
scendant of  the  said  Margery  Bisset.  Concerning  whom 
we  put  numerous  questions  to  several  people  hereabouts, 
but  could  learn  nothing  about  that  respectable  lady  ex- 
cept the  little  heap  of  tumbledown  walls  w^hich  bear  her 
name. 

On,  on,  for  we  were  growing  tired,  and  beginning  to 
wonder  how  the  beautiful  coast  -  road  would  look  from 
under  umbrellas,  when  turning  round  one  more  of  the 
picturesque  headlands,  we  cariie  in  sight  of  a  pretty  little 
village  sitting  in  the  midst  of  greenery,  in  the  curve  of  a 
semicircular  bay. 

"  There  it  is !  I  remember  it  now !"  cried  the  great- 
great-great-granddaughter  of  Dame  Margery  Bisset.  And 
as  we  drove  up  to  the  prettiest  of  inns,  a  smihng  hostess, 
standing  at  the  door,  bade  us  "  welcome  to  Cushendall." 

Since  writing  the  above  I  have  received  the  following 
communication  from  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  aforesaid 
Marjory  Bisset — or,  rather,  as  he  spells  it,  Marjory  Bysset : 

"You  have  cut  off  my  revered  and  beloved  ancestress 
from  about  three  hundred  years  of  honorable  antiquity. 
She  was  the  daughter  and  only  child  of  a  Norman  baron, 
who  by  hook  or  by  crook  had  got  hold  of  a  large  estate 
in  the  county  Antrim.      She  married  the  founder  of  my 


FROM  ANTRIM  TO   CUSHENDALL.  39 

family,  of  the  clan  Macdonald,  about  a.d.  1390.  Her  son, 
Donald  Dim,  is  the  hero  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  spirited  ode, 
'  Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu.'  Being  in  command  of  the  army 
of  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  (chief  of  the  clan),  he  gave  a  severe 
defeat  to  James  I.  of  Scotland,  who,  after  Donald's  troops 
were  disbanded,  eagerly  sought  for  him  to  behead  him. 
Donald  fled  out  of  King  James's  reach  to  his  mother's 
estate  in  Ireland,  where  he  prevailed  upon  one  of  the 
O'Neills  to  send  to  the  king  a  head,  presumed  to  be  his — 
upon  which  all  pursuit  of  him  was  abandoned.  To  whom 
the  head  belonged  is  not  recorded,  but  it  is  certain  that 
Donald  Dhu  had  no  claim  to  it,  for  he  was  a  noted  leader 
in  the  Highlands  many  years  after  King  James's  tragical 
death. 

"  Marjory  Bysset  was  contemporary  with  Richard  II.  of 
England,  who,  in  his  two  visits  to  Ireland,  spent  more  time 
there  than  all  the  kings  and  queens  of  Ireland  from  that 
day  to  this,  Victoria  included.  Without  doubt  the  old 
Norman  baron  presented  his  daughter  at  the  English  court, 
where  she  became  familiar  with  Richard's  features  and 
appearance.  After  her  marriage  she  must  have  been  a 
frequent  guest  at  Ardtomish  Castle,  the  residence  of  the 
Lord  of  the  Isles — a  Macdonald,  and  either  her  father-in-law 
or  brother-in-law.  You  know  that  Shakespeare  murders 
Richard  II.  at  Pomfret  Castle ;  but  contemporaiy  Scottish 
historians  deny  this,  and  say  that  the  king  afterwards 
presented  himself  at  Ardtomish,  and  lived  for  many  years 
at  Stirling.  Hill-Burton,  in  his  lately  published  and  valu- 
able histoiy  of  Scotland,  relates  this,  and  adds  that  'he 


40  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

[Richard  II.]  was  recognized  at  the  court  of  the  Lord  of 
the  Isles  by  an  Irish  lady  of  the  family  of  Bysset.' 

"My  family  was  driven  out  of  Scotland  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  seventeenth  century  by  James  I.  of  England — 
with  the  aid  of  the  Campbells.  Our  expulsion  was  at- 
tended with  circumstances  of  extreme  atrocity;  which, 
but  for  accident,  would  have  resulted  in  a  massacre  throw- 
ing the  massacre  of  Griencoe  completely  in  the  shade.  But 
for  the  secure  refuge  provided  for  us  in  county  Antrim  by 
the  ever-blessed  Marjory  Bysset  of  Grlenarm,  our  family 
would  have  become  extinct." 

The  family — changed  from  Macdonalds  into  Macdon- 
nells  —  have  largely  populated  county  Antrim.  This  clear 
and  graphic  account  of  their  beginnings  acquires  additional 
interest  from  the  fact  that  the  writer  is  a  gentleman  who 
has  just  completed  his  ninety-first  year. 


PART    II. 

CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN. 

August  21. 

WE  let  the  rain  rain  itself  out  all  night  without  com- 
plaining. What  was  the  good  of  complaining — 
especially  in  Ireland  %  Like  wise  travellers,  we  had  pro- 
vided against  the  possibility,  nay,  certainty,  of  being 
stranded  for  hours,  or  even  days,  in  a  sohtaiy  inn  with 
nothing  to  do.  We  had  taken  with  us  books  and  work, 
and,  above  aU,  cheerful  minds.  So  though  the  morning 
rose  dull  and  mild,  not  actually  wet,  but  very  depressing, 
we  refused  to  be  depressed,  and  rejoiced  in  the  near  neigh- 
borhood of  friends  and  the  quiet  shelter  of  the  Glens-of- 
Antrim  Hotel. 

Though  called  "hotel"  it  is  just  a  simple  village  inn; 
nothing  grand  or  showy  about  it.  But  it  sufficed  for  all 
our  needs ;  we  were  thoroughly  comfortable.  We  had 
good  beds,  good  food,  punctuality,  cleanliness,  and  order ; 
as  well  as  that  personal  interest  which  is  always  so  wel- 
come in  the  inevitable  homelessness  of  traveUing.  None  of 
us  can  count  upon  being  always  well,  always  independent 
of  kindUness,  and  to  be  ill,  or  to  die,  not  in  "  the  woi*st  inn's 


42  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

worst  room,"  but  in  the  grandest  apartment  of  the  best 
hotel,  would  be  a  dreary  thing.  If  in  our  travelling  we  had 
"  come  to  grief,"  we  felt  we  might  have  fallen  into  worse 
hands  than  those  of  our  good  landlady  at  Cushendall. 

The  "  we "  here  ought  to  be  individualized  and  named. 
To  avoid  personalities  let  me  do  it  lucus  a  non  lucendo, 
describing  each  one  of  our  party  by  a  quality  which  she 
does  not  possess.  For  instance,  the  Bird,  or  the  Brown 
Bird,  as  she  is  commonly  called  among  us,  has  shown  no 
disposition  for  nest-building,  and  never  sang  a  note  in  her 
life.  Then  the  Violet — it  is  her  Christian  name,  but  she  is 
certainly  not 

"  by  a  mossy  stone 
Half  hidden  from  the  eye," 

being  a  hard  worker  in  her  college,  and  devoted  to  the 
Higher  Education  of  Women.  Thirdly,  there  was  the 
Wild  Irish  Girl,  who  is  quite  tame,  and  practical,  though 
full  of  fun,  and  brimming  over  with  the  brightness  and 
cleverness  of  her  nation. 

With  these  three  girls  —  very  different  in  their  charac- 
teristics, but  all  sweet-tempered,  sensible,  merry,  and  har- 
monious— one  could  have  travelled  to  the  North  Pole,  or 
through  the  Desert  of  Sahara,  and  still  found  them  satis- 
factory and  ready  to  put  up  with  everything — especially 
myself.  The  tenderest  and  most  graceful  thing  I  can  say 
of  them  is  that  they  never  once  made  me  feel,  as  is  some- 
times done  quite  innocently  and  unconsciously,  that  the 
old  are  a  burden  to  the  young. 

If  English  invalids  only  knew  it,  there  are  along  the 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  43 

west  coast  of  Scotland  and  east  coast  of  Ireland — between 
which  runs  the  warm  Gulf  Stream — sheltered  nooks,  where 
the  climate  is,  all  winter  long,  as  mild  as  in  Devon  and  the 
Isle  of  Wight.  Cushendall  is  one  of  them.  You  may  teU 
this  by  the  sort  of  plants  which  flourish  in  its  gardens, 
huge  hedges  of  fuchsia,  tall  hydrangeas,  and  other  shrubs, 
which  in  most  parts  of  England  die  down  to  their  roots 
every  winter.  Had  this  "prettiest  village  in  Ireland,"  as 
it  is  called,  been  located  farther  south,  it  would  soon  have 
become  a  fashionable  health-resort,  full  of  genteel  \allas, 
streets  of  lodging-houses,  splendid  hotels,  and  every  sort 
and  kind  of  elegant  frivolity. 

Now,  it  lies  almost  unvisited,  sweet  and  still,  embosomed 
among  its  numerous  trees  and  sheltered  by  the  two  arms 
of  its  beautiful  bay.  Only  a  few  tourists  pass  through  it, 
and  some  neighboring  famihes  come  down  in  summer-time 
to  disport  themselves  on  the  bit  of  smooth  sand  dotted  with 
two  or  three  private  bathing-houses,  to  one  of  which  my 
three  young  mermaids  eagerly  repaired,  anxious  to  improve 
the  time  while  waiting  for  the  weather  to  clear  up. 

"  You  must  go  up  some  of  the  glens  of  Antrim,"  said 
one  of  the  residents  of  the  place,  who  had  taken  us  in 
charge — as,  indeed,  they  all  did  with  never-ending  kind- 
liness. "  These  glens  extend  inland  from  the  Antrim 
coast,  like  the  fingers  of  a  hand.  Some  are  cultivated, 
others  just  bog  and  moorland,  but  all  are  different,  and 
some  most  beautiful.     You  must  go,  if  possible." 

And  she  made  it  possible  by  the  loan  of  horse,  car, 
and   man,  with   whom   we   aftenvai'ds   went   tlu'ough  so 


44  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

much,  both  of  pleasure  and — well,  I  will  not  say  pain, 
though  we  had  our  difficulties — that  to  the  end  of  our 
days  I  think  we  shall  all  remember  Malcolm  and  his  horse 
Charlie. 

They  stood  at  the  inn  door — in  spite  of  a  slight  drizzle 
— ready  to  take  us  to  the  ancient  graveyard  of  Layde,  said 
to  be  the  burial-place  of  Ossian. 

"But,  like  King  Arthur's  in  Cornwall,  there  are  at 
least  haK  a  dozen  graves  of  Ossian  extant.  Perhaps  he 
was  not  buried  in  any  of  them.  Very  likely  he  never 
lived  at  all." 

"  Nor,  possibly,  did  Homer,  or  Shakespeare.  At  least, 
Shakespeare  may  have  lived,  but  some  people  say  he  didn't 
write  his  own  plays.  So  you  need  not  believe  in  Ossian,  or 
waste  time  in  searching  for  his  grave." 

So  jested  these  young  iconoclasts;  but  meanwhile  we 
entered  the  old  burying  -  ground,  a  curious  place,  situated 
near  the  shore,  so  near  as  to  be  scarcely  fifty  yards  above 
high- water  mark.  The  tide  kept  running  in  and  out  with 
a  continuous  murmur,  and  yet,  as  is  the  case  all  along  this 
and  the  opposite  coast,  vegetation  was  green  and  luxuriant 
down  to  the  water's  edge. 

"  Come  in,"  said  our  Wild  Irish  Grirl,  opening  the  little 
wicket  gate.  She  had  a  sort  of  right  to  the  place,  as  many 
of  her  forefathers  repose  there. 

How  desolate  it  looked!  all  the  more  so  for  a  white 
goat  tethered  among  the  graves,  and  a  man  sitting  upon 
one  tombstone  cutting  letters  on  another.  He  was  so  ab- 
sorbed that  I  spoke  to  him  twice  before  he  answered. 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  45 

"  Sure,  ma'am,  this  is  Layde  burying-ground,  and  that's 
the  church  ye  see  " — a  few  tumble-down  walls,  made  into  a 
sort  of  open-au*  catacomb  with  iron  railings.  "How  old 
is  it,  did  ye  want  to  know  %  There  is  a  date  somewhere. 
I'll  go  and  look." 

Leaving  his  work,  he  went  with  us  over  the  long  grass, 
and  uneven  ground,  billowed  with  many  nameless  graves, 
and  pointed  out  a  stone  in  the  wall  inscribed  "  Dinnis  (sic) 
McAulay,  1696." 

"  But  the  church  must  be  a  deal  older  than  that  V 

"  Maybe,  ma'am.     Nobody  knows." 

And  apparently  nobody  cared,  for  the  tombstones  were 
broken  and  dilapidated,  the  chapel  a  mere  ruin.  So  was 
a  mass  of  masonry  near  the  gate,  which  we  were  told  was 
called  the  Nun's  Tower. 

"  There  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  nunnery  here  once,, 
but  notliing  is  really  known  about  it,"  said  the  friend  who 
had  brought  us  hither,  and  who  went  searching  about  for 
her  ancestors'  graves  amid  the  nettles  and  brambles.  How 
much  these  old  heroes  thought  of  themselves  once!  how 
little  anybody  thinks  of  them  now ! 

On  either  side  the  railings  of  the  unroofed  chamber  of 
graves,  two  tall  stone  tablets,  like  the  Ten  Commandments 
over  a  church  altar,  pedigi'ees  rather  than  epitaphs,  com- 
memorated two  families,  one  being  "Major  Alexander 
McAulay,  from  Ardincaple,  Dumbartonshire,"  who  was 
"  in  the  Scotch  army  of  Charles  the  First  in  Ulster,"  and 
who  "marned  Ahce  Stewart  of  Ballintoy." 

"  Ballintoy  is  a  village  between  here  and  the  Causeway. 


46  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

Probably  Mistress  Alice  was  one  of  the  Irish  heiresses 
whom  so  many  enterprising  Scotsmen  came  over  and 
married." 

"  Or  fought  with  them  first  and  married  them  after- 
wards, as  was  the  fashion  then,"  said  our  Wild  Irish  Grirl. 
"  Here  is  another ;  Alister  McDonnell.  That  must  be  he 
who  was  '  out '  with  Montrose ;  I  ought  to  clear  the  nettles 
away  from  his  grave,  at  any  rate." 

And  as  we  stood  round  it  a  young  thrush  flew  out  of 
the  mass  of  huge  primrose  leaves  which  showed  what 
heaps  of  flowers  there  must  have  been  among  the  graves 
last  spring.  It  made  us  all  start,  yet  seemed  a  bit  of  life — 
happy  young  life — in  the  midst  of  so  much  death. 

"  The  birds  often  build  in  this  tree,  ma'am,"  and  our 
civil  stone-cutter  pointed  to  a  flourishing  plane-tree  that 
grew  in  the  middle  of  the  roofless  chapel.  "I  knew  an 
old  man  who  saw  it  planted.  He  was  a  shp  of  a  boy  then, 
watching  a  funeral  here,  and  he  saw  one  of  the  bearers 
take  a  pole  that  the  coflin  had  been  carried  with,  and  stick 
it  into  the  ground  to  save  himself  the  trouble  of  carrying 
it  home.  It  took  root  and  grew.  Ye  see  it's  a  fine  big 
tree  now." 

Our  Wild  Irish  Girl  corroborated  this  curious  story; 
adding  that  she  knew  a  lady  whose  uncle  and  aunt  had 
been  married  under  this  self-same  tree. 

"  Once  a  church  always  a  church,  so  it  was  all  right. 
But  don't  you  think  this  would  be  a  dull  place  to  be  mar- 
ried at  ?"    In  which  sentiment  all  agreed. 

To    these  young    creatures   marriage    seemed  a   much 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  47 

nearer  and  more  interesting  thing  than  burying.  But  I 
could  not  help  thinking  of  the  dead  McDonnells  and 
McAulays,  and  all  their  generations  of  long-closed  graves 
— men  and  women,  whose  joys  and  sorrows,  alike  unrecord- 
ed, were  so  vivid  and  real  once.     Yet 

"  They  fly,  forgotten,  as  a  dream 
Dies  at  the  opening  day." 

Happy  those  who,  as  they  advance  nearer  to  that  earthly 
oblivion,  can  lift  their  eyes  and  behold  still  shining,  some- 
where, another  "  opening  Day." 

Malcolm  never  could  have  driven  a  merrier  party  than 
that  which  started  this  afternoon  to  visit  two  of  the  An- 
trim glens,  going  up  Glen  An  and  down  Glen  Dun.  It 
was  our  English  girls'  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  an 
Irish  car,  which  to  the  Saxon  mind  has  but  one  advantage 
— you  are  always  ready  to  jump  out.  At  first  they  were 
so  exercised  in  "  holding  on,"  greatly  to  the  amusement  of 
the  Irish  girl,  that  we  hardly  noticed  the  scenery  for  laugh- 
ing. But  when  we  began  to  mount,  almost  at  a  foot's  pace, 
mile  after  mile,  and  the  desolate  glen  opened  out — all  the 
grander  for  the  dull,  gray  sky,  with  its  constant  threatening 
of  rain,  and  all  the  more  lonely  for  the  "  few  sheep  in  the 
wilderness "  that  appeared  now  and  again,  staling  at  us 
with  the  usual  silly,  dazed  look,  and  then  scampering  away 
^we  were  forced  to  acknowledge  that  there  might  be  fine 
gloomy  landscapes  even  out  of  Scotland. 

At  the  high  point,  just  where  Glen  An  meets  Glen 
Dim,  we  foimd  a  shooting  -  lodge,  the  first  dwelling-house 


43  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

we   had   come   to,  and    one   of   the   very   ughest   I   ever 
beheld. 

"  What  an  idea  the  Irish  must  have  of  domestic  archi- 
tecture!" said  the  Brown  Bird,  who  hkes  to  have  things 
pretty  about  her,  and  is  rather  critically  minded. 

"  And  what  a  '  dead-alive '  place  this  must  be  to  live  in!" 
observed  the  Violet,  who  thinks  it  no  advantage  to  be 
"  half -hidden  from  the  eye  "  of  intellectual  society. 

"  The  gentleman  that  owns  the  place  doesn't  live  here, 
he  only  comes  for  the  shooting,"  Malcolm  told  us. 

So  all  the  rest  of  the  year  the  beautiful  stream  runs 
brawling  down,  and  the  wide  slopes  of  heather  blossom 
and  fade,  innocent  of  tourists,  who  throng  in  crowds  to 
much  inferior  scenery.  But  then,  as  I  have  said,  this  is 
an  unknown  country,  and  will  be  for  generations,  unless 
travellers  from  other  countries  should  find  it  out  and  rouse 
it  from  its  melancholy,  hopeless  condition  of  sloth  and 
decay. 

We  had  the  glen  all  to  ourselves ;  I  think  we  had  seen 
but  two  human  beings  till  now.  Then  came  a  change. 
Instead  of  barren  moorland  we  found  patches  of  potatoes, 
even  cabbages,  while  here  and  there  a  field  of  yet  green 
oats,  interspersed  with  masses  of  the  pretty,  yellow  daisy 
which  in  Scotland  is  called  "  gules,"  showed  a  praiseworthy 
attempt  at  farming.  The  earthen  banks,  or  rough  stone 
dykes,  which  form  the  usual  boundaries  in  Ireland,  when 
there  are  any  boundaries  at  all,  began  to  be  replaced  by 
green  hedges,  adorned  with  quantities  of  honeysuckle,  the 
largest  honeysuckle  flowers  I  ever  saw.     Evidently  the  land 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  49 

had  good  capabilities,  even  though  it  was  only  about  two 
miles  from  the  sea-board. 

By  and  by  we  saw  a  village — at  least  two  or  three 
cottages  which  Malcolm  dignified  by  that  name.  An  old 
woman  came  out  of  one  of  them,  whom  he  questioned  as 
to  where  we  should  find  "  th'  ould  altar." 

We  had  never  heard  of  it ;  so  he  informed  us  that  it  was 
a  very  curious  old  altar  in  a  wood,  where  the  priest  used  to 
say  mass  until  the  last  few  years,  when  a  gentleman,  "  an' 
a  Protestant  gentleman  too,  ladies,"  felt  so  sorry  for  the 
poor  folks,  kneeling  out  in  the  open  air  in  all  weathers,  that 
he  built  them  a  chapel  close  by. 

"  An'  a  beautiful  new  chapel  it  is— and  ye  must  go  and 
see  it.  But  maybe  ye'd  like  to  see  the  ould  altar  too," 
which  Malcolm  evidently  thought  a  vastly  inferior  thing. 

We  thought  differently.  It  was  a  most  interesting 
relic  of  antiquity — prehistoric,  evidently,  for  we  could  get 
no  information  whatever  about  its  origin,  till  a  young  in- 
habitant of  the  glens,  whom  we  afterguards  met,  volun- 
teered to  give  me  a  written  account  of  it.  She  has  done 
this  so  well  that  I  prefer  her  words  to  my  own. 

"  Up  Glen  Dun,  more  than  a  mile  from  the  sea,  is  an 
old  stone  altar,  where  the  people  used  to  worship  long 
before  there  was  any  chapel  in  the  glens.  I  don't  know — 
nor  does  any  one — how  old  the  altar  is.  It  lies  in  the 
hollow  of  a  hill,  outside  Craiga  Wood — the  oak-tree  being 
older  than  the  altar,  and  the  Runic  stone  older  than  the 
oak.  Great  stones  form  the  back  of  the  altar,  which  is 
supported  by  the  roots  of  the  ancient  oak  split  in  two,  in 
4 


50  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

the  clefts  of  which  grow  foxgloves  and  ferns.  You  can  see 
where  the  old  trunk  was  cut  through,  hut  two  young  trees 
have  sprung  from  it,  one  on  each  side ;  their  branches  have 
spread  and  joined,  making  a  close  shade  overhead. 

"  The  altar  beneath  is  in  the  form  of  all  Christian  altars, 
hut  with  two  arms  built  out  on  either  side.  In  place  of 
the  crucifix  is  the  Runic  stone,  as  I  have  heard  it  called, 
though  why  I  know  not,  for  it  seems  to  me  like  the  broken 
top  of  an  old  Irish  cross,  or  else  has  been  shaped  into  a 
cross  by  whoever  wished  to  Christianize  it.  The  figure 
carved  on  it  in  deep  relief,  though  much  weather-worn,  is 
either  a  Christ  or  a  saint.  It  has  outstretched  arms — not 
straight,  as  when  fixed  on  a  cross,  but  one  a  little  elevated 
above  the  other.  Behind  the  head  is  an  angel,  with  wings 
clearly  discernible.  Below  are  letters,  but  so  much  de- 
faced that  one  cannot  make  out  whether  they  are  Roman 
or  Irish  characters. 

"  Connected  with  this  altar,  which,  curious  as  it  is,  no 
archaeologists  have  yet  discovered  or  written  about,  is  a 
superstition  still  firmly  believed  in.  Tradition  threatened 
any  one  who  should  hurt  the  tree  or  move  a  stone  from  the 
altar  with  a  heavy  curse.  Some  generations  ago,  a  McAu- 
lay  of  Glenville,  the  richest  man  in  all  the  seven  glens  of 
Antrim,  dared  to  cut  down  the  sacred  oak  —  but,  in  spite 
of  this,  it  did  not  die.  The  two  branches  it  put  forth 
have  slowly  grown  together  and  formed  a  second  tree, 
else,  the  people  say,  there  would  have  been  an  end  of  the 
McAulays." 

However,  continual  misfortune  has  followed  the  family. 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  51 

which  has  lost  nearly  all  its  wealth,  and  for  three  genera- 
tions there  has  only  been  one  heir  to  the  name — as  there 
is  now.  The  present  McAulay  is  a  young  boy  in  his  teens. 
I  accidentally  saw  his  photograph  —  a  sweet,  good  face. 
May  the  sacred  oak  and  he  live  and  flourish  together ! 

"We  found  Malcolm  and  his  Charlie  waiting  outside  the 
new  chapel,  which  he  seemed  so  determined  we  should 
admire.  He  was  himself  a  good  Catholic,  though  he  told 
me  he  had  served  from  a  boy,  and  his  father  before  him, 
the  excellent  Protestant  family  who  had  evidently  won  his 
entire  devotion.  Partly  to  please  him,  we  were  going  into 
the  brand-new  modem  building,  when  we  were  confronted 
by  a  lovely  apparition  in  the  shape  of  a  young  girl  on  a 
chestnut  mare.  She  with  difficulty  reined  in  the  pretty 
creature,  while  she  stooped  to  shake  hands  with  our  Wild 
Irish  Girl,  who  was  delighted  to  see  her.  What  a  beaming 
face  it  was !  Involuntarily  I  thought  of  Moore's  Unes  to 
his  Irish  Girl : 

"  For  whilst  I've  thee  before  me, 

With  heart  so  warm  and  eyes  so  bright, 
No  cloud  can  linger  o'er  me — 

That  smile  turns  them  all  to  light." 

"  So  you  have  been  looking  at  the  old  altar  ?  Did  you 
see  the  well  which  some  young  priest  once  blessed?  He 
was  dying,  and  his  mother  told  him  he  ought  not  to  die 
without  leaving  some  good  thing  behind  him.  So  he  dug  a 
hole  in  the  moss  with  his  hands,  and  blessed  it,  and  it's  a 
holy  well  to  this  day." 

(N.B. — I  fear  it  isn't,  for  my  girls  afterwards  sought  for 


52  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

it  all  over  tlie  spot  which  Malcolm  pointed  out  to  them, 
and  found  not  a  drop  of  water  nor  the  ghost  of  a  well.) 

"And  the  fairies'  thorn f  continued  our  eager  young 
horsewoman.  "Have  you  seen  that?  It's  true  —  quite 
true.  The  thorn-tree  was  so  old  that  it  had  never  been 
known  to  flower — when,  two  years  ago,  it  suddenly  took 
to  blossoming,  and  was  covered  with  may.  But  being 
known  as  the  fairies'  tree,  nobody  dared  to  touch  it.  Some 
rash  hands  plucked  a  flower  or  two,  and  had  heavy  losses 
directly.  I  myself  took  some  sceptical  friends  to  see  it — 
they  would  insist  on  gathering  the  blossoms — and  do  you 
know,"  with  a  curious  mixture  of  fun  and  earnest  in  her 
lovely  Irish  eyes,  "  every  one  of  them  lost  something !" 

We  all  laughed.  Though  I  did  not  say  so,  I  could  not 
help  thinking  that  anybody  going  anywhere  with  that 
charming  girl  would  be  not  unlikely  to  lose — something ! 

She  told  us  all  about  the  Catholic  chapel.  "  Yes,  is  it 
not  a  pretty  one  ?  And  it  was  really  built  by  a  Protestant. 
We  don't  hate  one  another  in  these  innocent  glens  as  you 
do  in  your  big  towns.  When  we  had  our  bazaar  for  build- 
ing a  new  church  at  Cushendall,  the  Catholics  helped  us  a 
great  deal.  And  as  you  will  see,  in  this  churchyard  Cath- 
olics and  Protestants  lie  side  by  side.     Nobody  objects." 

"  They  did  object  in  the  old  burying-ground  at  Layde," 
said  our  Wild  Irish  Grirl.  "  My  great-great-grandmother 
was  buried  a  good  many  yards  distant  from  the  family 
grave,  because  she  was  a  Protestant." 

"  It  is  not  so  here,"  continued  the  mistress  of  the  chest- 
nut mare ;  with  difficulty — as  the  beautiful  animal  evident- 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  53 

ly  disapproved  of  conversation.  "  There  is  one  grave  you 
must  look  at.  A  girl  here  who  had  second  sight — as  they 
call  it  in  Scotland — hegged  her  sweetheart,  a  fisher-lad,  not 
to  go  to  sea  on  a  certain  day,  as  he  would  certainly  be 
drowned.  He  was  drowned,  though  they  managed  to 
rescue  his  body  and  bury  it  in  this  place.  The  girl  would 
sit  for  hours  beside  the  grave,  carving  a  ship  on  the  stone, 
till  at  last  she  went  melancholy  mad,  and  jumped  from  a 
rock  into  the  sea  at  Cushendun.     Good-bye,  till  tea-time." 

And  she  galloped  off,  while  we  crossed  the — for  once — 
carefully  kept  graveyard  to  the  stone  she  indicated,  and, 
pulling  the  moss  away,  read  the  inscription :  "  AlistefH 
hurying  -  place.  Here  lies  the  hoddy  (sic)  of  John.,  his  son. 
Died  March,  1803.  Aged  18."  Underneath,  rudely  scratched 
as  with  a  nail  or  pin,  was  the  outline  of  a  ship,  with  the 
words  :  "  Your  ship,  love,  is  moored,  head  and  stern,  for — " 
Here  followed  some  Gaelic  words,  which  we  were  told 
meant  "  forever  with  God."  There  were  a  few  more  half- 
obliterated  marks,  supposed  to  represent  an  anchor  and  a 
goat.* 

My  girls  looked  grave  for  two  minutes  or  so,  then  we 
left,  and  all  began  laughing  again.  Life — young,  happy  life 
— put  aside  the  idea  of  death.  Besides,  the  gray,  dull 
afternoon  was  brightening  into  a  lovely  evening,  and 
Charlie  started  off,  careering  at  a  speed  which  made  the 
science  of  "  holding  on  " — to  people  not  used  to  Irish  cars 
— a  very  essential  study.     By  the  time  we  reached  Cush- 

*  I  have  since  heard  that  these  marks  were  scratched,  not  by  a  love-lorn  girl, 
but  by  the  boy's  father.     My  readers  may  choose  either  tradition. 


54  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

endun  we  were  all  ready  for  a  quiet  saunter  round  another 
of  those  delightful  walled-in  gardens,  full  of  flowers  and 
fruit — and  a  hospitable  tea  afterwards. 

Cushendun — the  twin  -  village  of  Cushendall — is,  if  less 
pretty,  decidedly  the  fresher  of  the  two,  being  more  on 
the  open  sea.  The  opposite  coast  of  Scotland,  that  is, 
the  Mull  of  Cantire,  and  I  fancied  the  hilly  outline  of 
the  dear  familiar  Island  of  Arran,  were  dimly  visible. 
But  just  now  my  young  folks  found  an  attraction  nearer 
home. 

Three  months  or  so  before  there  had  been  a  wreck  of 
an  emigrant  ship,  the  Lake  ChampJain,  off  Cushendun. 
Her  captain,  stopping  to  put  on  shore  some  stowaways, 
had  run  her  on  the  rocks,  where  she  had  ever  since  re- 
mained. An  enterprising  Belfast  firm  had  bought  her,  just 
as  she  was,  "  for  an  old  song,"  and  risked  the  experiment 
of  getting  her  off.  For  weeks  workmen  had  been  em- 
ployed about  her,  inhabiting  a  large  hut  on  the  beach,  and 
working,  whenever  weather  allowed,  with  the  help  of  a 
number  of  tugs,  to  get  her  afloat  again ;  to  the  great  inter- 
est of  all  the  village,  indeed,  all  the  country-side. 

"  You  must  come  and  look  at  her,"  said  a  son  of  the 
house.  "  She  lies  just  where  she  went  ashore,  close  here. 
Every  day  they  expect  to  move  her,  but  still  she  sticks  fast. 
No — by  Jove,  she's  off !" 

The  energetic  youth  threw  down  the  glass  through 
which  he  was  looking,  and  bounded  over  the  wire  fence 
like  a  shot.  All  the  other  young  people  followed.  The 
Bird  flew  as  if  she  had  really  wings;  the  Violet  took  to 


CUSHENDALL   AND    CUSHENDUN.  55 

her  heels  light  as  air.  Even  the  Wild  Irish  Girl  refused 
to  linger  tamely  behind,  but  rose  up  and  fled  after  the  rest. 
We  two  elders  were  left  alone. 

*'  Well,  you  and  I  can't  leap  fences  and  clamber  over 
rocks,  so  let  us  walk  quietly  down  to  the  shore  and  see  the 
Lake  Champlam  glide  past." 

So  she  did,  tugged  by  two  vessels,  and  followed  by 
several  more.  We  could  see  her  decks,  full  of  moving 
black  dots,  and  her  portholes,  out  of  which  poured  four 
continuous  streams  of  water,  showing  how  hard  her  pumps 
must  be  working. 

"But  if  they  can  only  keep  her  afloat  till  she  gets  to 
Belfast,  the  firm  will  repay  themselves  over  and  over  again 
for  the  sum  they  spent  upon  her.  They  were  plucky  fel- 
lows to  risk  it." 

Pluck  with  perseverance  added  always  rouses  sym- 
pathy. It  was  pleasant  to  see  a  body  of  workmen  and 
villagers  running  eagerly  to  the  shore,  whence,  as  she 
passed,  they  gave  the  rescued  vessel  the  loudest  and  heart- 
iest cheer. 

"We  have  not  had  such  an  excitement  for  years.  I 
hope  it  may  be  many  a  year  before  we  have  such  another, 
for  wrecks  are  not  common  here.  Sometimes  the  weather 
is  delightful  till  near  Clmstmas  —  except  for  accidental 
storms.  See  how  they  have  beaten  to  pieces  that  iniin 
opposite,  which  was  once  a  castle." 

Some  one,  who  Ukes  old  castles  better  than  modem 
steamboats,  pricked  up  her  ears  at  this,  and  began  to  in- 
vestigate eagerly  a  pile  of  ruins  opposite  the  house. 


56  AN  UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

"How  delightful!  to  have  an  old  castle  at  your  very 
front  door.     How  old  is  it  ?    What  do  you  know  about  it  ?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  the  young  horsewoman,  who 
looked  as  pretty  out  of  her  riding-habit  as  in  it,  and  had 
kindly  left  the  young  folks'  company  for  that  of  the  old 
— "  nothing,  except  that  it  has  a  Banshee." 

"  A  Banshee !" 

"  Of  course,  since  the  castle  belonged  to  the  McQuillans, 
a  real  old  Irish  family  long  extinct.  The  McDonnells  and 
McAulays  and  the  rest  of  us  are  quite  too  modem  to  keep 
a  Banshee." 

"  You  never  heard  her  cry  ?" 

"No;  but  our  people  say  they  have,  sometimes  in  the 
winter  storms.     Do  you  believe  in  Banshees  f 

I  could  not  say  "  Yes,"  and  I  would  not  say  "  No."  My 
young  friend  looked  much  delighted. 

"  I  am  so  glad ;  for  I  believe  in  Banshees  and  lepra- 
chauns,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  And  I  know  an  old 
woman  who  is  certain  she  once  heard  a  Banshee  cry. 
Would  you  like  to  hear  the  story  V 

I  asked  her  to  write  it  down,  with  other  "  quite  true " 
stories  which  she  then  told  me,  but  I  could  not  possibly 
remember.  Here  it  is.  Of  course,  I  ask  nobody  to  believe 
it,  but  it  is  curious  how  tenaciously  such  beliefs  yet  linger 
in  Ireland. 

"  There  is  now  living  in  Bristol  a  Mrs.  Linahan,  an  old 
Irishwoman,  who  has  not  seen  her  own  country  for  forty 
years.  She  is  old,  poor,  bed-ridden,  and  suffering,  but 
patient  and  cheerful  beyond  belief.     Her  strongest  feeling 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  57 

is  love  for  Ireland,  and  she  likes  talking  to  me  because  I 
am  Irish.  Many  a  time,  sitting  in  her  little,  close  room, 
above  the  noisy  street,  she  has  told  me  about  Banshees 
and  Phookas  and  fairies — especially  the  first.  She  declares 
solemnly  she  once  heard  the  cry,  or  caoine^  of  a  Banshee. 

" '  It  was  when  I  was  a  little,  young  child,'  she  told  me, 
'and  knew  nothing  at  all  of  Banshees  or  of  death.  One 
day  my  mother  sent  me  to  see  afther  my  grandmother,  the 
length  of  three  miles  from  our  house.  All  the  road  was 
deep  in  snow,  and  I  went  my  lone — and  didn't  know  the 
grandmother  was  dead,  and  my  aunt  gone  to  the  viUage 
for  help.  So  I  got  to  the  house,  and  I  see  her  lying  so  still 
and  quiet  I  thought  she  was  sleepin'.  When  I  called  her 
and  she  wouldn't  stir  or  spake,  I  thought  I'd  put  snow  on 
her  face  to  wake  her.  I  just  stepped  outside  to  get  a  hand- 
ful, and  came  in,  leaving  the  door  open,  and  then  I  heard 
a  far-away  cry,  so  faint  and  yet  so  fearsome  that  I  shook 
Uke  a  leaf  in  the  wind.  It  got  nearer  and  nearer,  and  then 
I  heard  a  sound  like  clapping  or  wringing  of  hands,  as  they 
do  in  keening  at  a  funeral.  Twice  it  came,  and  then  I  sUd 
down  to  the  ground,  and  crept  under  the  bed  where  my 
grandmother  lay,  and  there  I  heard  it  for  the  third  time, 
crying,  "  Ochone !  Ochone !"  at  the  very  door.  Then  it  sud- 
denly stopped ;  I  couldn't  tell  where  it  went,  and  I  dared 
not  lift  up  my  head  till  the  women  came  into  the  house. 
One  o'  them  took  me  up  and  said,  "  It  was  the  Banshee  the 
child  heard,  for  the  woman  that  lies  there  was  one  of  the 
real  ould  Irish  famihes — she  was  an  O'Grady,  and  that's  the 
raison  of  it." ' 


58  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

"And  then,  seeing  I  was  rather  grave  —  though  my 
family  are  of  the  humble,  modern  race,  only  two  or  three 
hundred  years  old,  so  we  don't  keep  a  Banshee — Mrs.  Lin- 
ahan  went  on  to  tell  me,  in  her  poetical  south  -  country 
language,  about  catching  a  leprachaun. 

"  '  Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  a  leprachaun,  dear?  He's  a 
little  ould  man,  as  cute  as  a  fox,  and  as  hard  to  grip  hould 
of.  But  if  ye  can  catch  him  and  keep  him  safe  for  a  year 
and  a  day,  he'll  tell  ye  where  the  fairy  gold  is  lyin',  and 
ye'll  be  rich  ever  after.  Well,  there  was  a  foolish  man 
away  in  Connaught — they're  mostly  fools  there,  my  dear — 
and  he  catched  a  leprachaun  sleeping  undher  some  white 
clover,  and  earned  him  home,  and  then  he  Avas  bothered 
intirely  where  to  keep  him.  So  he  put  him  in  a  wicker 
basket  turned  upside  down,  close  by  the  fire,  right  forenenst 
where  himself  would  be  always  sitting  on  his  creepy. 
"  Faix !  that'll  do  for  ye  now,"  said  he,  and  went  to  get  his 
supper.  But  the  leprachaun  set  up  such  a  hullabaloo, 
"  Let  me  out,  let  me  out,  let  me  go  to  me  wMq  and  me  child- 
her,"  and  kept  up  the  same  day  and  night,  till  the  poor 
man  was  nigh  crazed,  and  went  into  a  tantrum  and  turned 
up  the  wicker  basket.  "  Musha !  go  'long  out  of  that,"  ses 
he,  and  the  leprachaun  was  up  and  away  out  of  the  door. 

"  '  But  wait  till  I  tell  ye,  dear,  of  another  man  I  knowed 
myself,  that  catched  a  leprachaun.  He  was  an  Ulster  man, 
and  they  knows  the  ways  of  the  world  better  nor  them 
o'  Connaught.  So  he  never  heeded  the  leprachaun's  cry- 
ing, but  just  said,  "  Whist,  ye  cripple !  be  asy  now,  as  asy 
as  ye  can,"  till  the  year  and  the  day  were  out.     And  then 


CUSHENDALL   AND    CUSHENDUN.  59 

the  leprachaun  cried  out  in  his  Uttle  small  voice,  "  The 
north  side  o'  the  hill,  undher  the  great  big  stone.  Let  me 
out,  let  me  out."  So  the  Ulster  man  let  him  out,  and  went 
to  the  north  side  of  the  hill,  and  what  he  found  there  no- 
body knew ;  but  he  grew  a  rich  man,  and  got  to  the  very- 
top  o'  the  tree.' " 

As  many  Ulster  men  do,  with  or  without  faiiy  gold. 
Nothing  strikes  one  more  in  going  among  these  Antrim 
glens,  and  along  the  Antrim  coast,  than  the  vital  difference 
of  race  there  is  in  different  parts  of  Ireland.  These  Ulster 
men,  hardy,  industrious,  self-reliant,  need  only  the  influx  of 
a  little  more  money,  a  little  more  education,  ^\\ih  kindly 
guidance  into  that  civilization  which  education  alone  can 
give,  to  become  a  valuable  integral  part  of  the  empire. 
The  best  Home  Rule  for  Ireland  —  and  she  needs  sorely 
some  Home  Rule  —  is  to  cultivate  among  her  ignorant 
masses  those  qualities  which  would  make  her  fit  to  govern 
herself,  and  so  take  her  level  place  with  England  and  Scot- 
land in  the  one  United  Kingdom. 

We  found  that  our  artist,  travelling  on  ahead  of  us, 
had  missed  the  two  sights  upon  which  Cushendun  prides 
itself  —  a  fine  viaduct,  too  modern  for  artistic  purposes, 
which  spans  Glen  Dun  river,  and  some  sea -caves  and 
natural  arches,  noticeable  anywhere  but  on  this  magnifi- 
cent coast,  which  abounds  in  such.  The  .ancient  altar 
is  so  little  known  that  he  had  never  even  heard  of  it ! 
Therefore  Cushendun  must  go  unillustrated :  a  happy 
hunting-ground  for  future  painters,  who  would  find  in  the 
glens  of  Antrim  material  for  a  whole  summer's  work. 


60  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

August  22. — And  yet  summer  here  seemed  still  at  its 
prime.  What  a  Sunday  it  was !  like  an  Italian  day^  cloud- 
less from  beginning  to  end.  What  a  contrast  in  its  soli- 
tary peace  to  Sunday  fortnight,  when  I  had  been  lured  to 
go,  rather  unwillingly,  to  the  Spurgeon  Tabernacle — quit- 
ting it  with  every  respect  for  the  man  who,  by  his  earnest- 
ness, attracts  all  sorts  of  people  and  "compels  them  to 
come  in  " — but  with  a  determination  never  to  go  again  my- 
self. One  almost  regretted  leaving  the  solemn,  wordless 
preaching  of  the  everlasting  sea,  for  the  httle  church  of 
Cushendall,  which  the  good  Catholics  had  helped  the  Prot- 
estants to  build,  in  this  "  sleepy,  simple  parish,"  as  the 
preacher  called  it  in  his  sermon.  A  sermon  which  enthu- 
siastically begged  our  contributions  for  some  South  African 
Mission.  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  a  better  mission 
would  be  the  civilization  of  the  starving  semi-heathens  in 
many  parts  of  Ireland. 

But  the  angry  spirit,  which  I  confess  always  awakes  in 
me  after  hearing  missionary  sermons,  was  soothed  by  an 
afternoon  saunter  on  the  shore,  and  a  dehghtful  cottage 
tea,  which  will  be  to  my  Enghsh  girls  a  perpetual  refuta- 
tion of  the  creed  that — except  the  gentry — all  Irish  folk 
are  untidy  and  uncleanly.  Also  a  visit  to  a  private  Cot- 
tage Hospital,  where  the  descendant  of  I  know  not  how 
many  old  heroes — land-rovers  and  sea-robbers — spends  her 
peaceful  days  in  doing  all  the  good  she  can  to  the  sick  of 
the  neighborhood. 

And  here  the  Violet,  who  had  never  in  her  life  been 
inside  a  Cathohc  chapel,  begged  me  to  take  her  to  one. 


CUSHENDALL   AND    CUSHENDUN.  61 

Why  not?  Good  Christians  can  say  their  prayers  any- 
where, with  any  other  Christians  who  are  in  real  earnest. 

Though  the  congregation  consisted  mostly  of  what  we 
call  the  lower  classes,  their  reverent  behavior  was  unmis- 
takable. Old  women,  with  the  usual  bright-colored  plaid 
shawl  over  their  heads,  parents  with  their  childi'en,  and  a 
number  of  young  men  who  had  been  lounging  outside, 
crept  quietly  in,  knelt  and  said  their  beads.  The  gathering 
twihght,  the  simphcity  and  hush  of  the  place,  made  it  feel 
sacred,  until  the  priest  entered,  and  in  EngMsh,  marked 
with  a  strong  Irish  brogue,  and  so  rapid  that  it  was  al- 
most as  unintelhgible  as  Latin,  pattered  over  a  service 
entitled  "  the  Rosary  of  Mary." 

I  often  think,  if  that  meek  and  holy  woman,  "  the  hand- 
maid of  the  Lord,"  whom  we  Protestants  do  not  revere 
half  enough — could  look  down  and  hear  herself  thus  mis- 
interpreted, how  she  would  shrink  from  her  so-called 
worship !  It  made  us  sad  to  hsten,  sadder  stiU  to  think  of 
those  others  who  hstened  in  the  simplest  and  sincerest 
faith.  But  in  those  things  no  man  has  a  right  to  judge  his 
brother.  Enough  if  he  keeps  his  own  faith  firm,  his  prac- 
tice right,  and  his  conscience  clear. 

Still,  I  think  the  Violet,  hke  myself,  felt  reheved  when 
we  got  out  into  the  still,  sweet,  golden-tinted  evening,  the 
Holy  Cathohc  Church  of  nature,  which  is  open  to  all  and 
satisfies  all. 

Since  writing  the  above  a  correspondent,  quite  un- 
known to  me  has  sent  me  a  letter,  the  substance  of  wliich 


62  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

I  think  it  but  fair  and  honest  to  transcribe.  It  expresses — 
as  I  have  often  had  to  argue  with  those  who  condemn  their 
brethren  of  an  opposite,  or  even  a  shghtly  different  faith 
from  their  own — that  what  people  are  supposed  to  beheve 
is  often  not  at  all  what  they  do  believe,  and  that  they 
onght  to  be  judged  accordingly.  Or,  better  far,  not  judged 
at  all.  The  matter  rests  entirely  between  them,  their  con- 
science, and  their  God : 

"  May  I  venture,  as  a  Cathohc,  or,  if  it  please  yon  better, 
a  Roman  Catholic,  to  ask  you  to  hesitate  in  beheving  that 
those  who  love  and  practise  the  devotion  of  the  Rosary 
need  in  so  doing  give  you  cause  for  sadness. 

"  We,  in  the  Rosary,  find  a  prayer  which  fits  in  with  all 
moods,  and  which  can  be  made  the  vehicle  for  the  expres- 
sion of  all  our  wants.  It  is  a  form  of  prayer  which  is 
acceptable  to  the  learned  among  us,  while  it  is  easy  to  the 
simple  and  those  ignorant  of  book-learning.  What  is  the 
Rosary'?  Not  what  it  is  represented  to  be  by  those  who, 
like  yourself,  evidently  do  not  understand  its  nature  or  its 
object. 

"It  is  a  meditation  upon  the  principal  events  in  the 
hfe  of  our  Blessed  Lord  and  of  his  Mother.  In  it  we  dwell 
upon  the  joys  of  his  childhood  and  youth,  the  sorrows  and 
pains  of  his  passion,  and  the  glorious  events  which  fol- 
lowed. St.  Dominic,  in  his  time,  saw  the  need  of  making 
people  think  more  of  the  hfe  of  our  Blessed  Lord — and  in 
those  days  when  printing  was  unknown,  and  reading  a 
rare  accomphshment,  he  happily  conceived  this  plan  of  the 
Rosary.     It  is  a  prayer  which  is  loved  by  the  greatest  as 


CUSHENDALL   AND    CUSHENDUN.  63 

well  as  the  humblest  minds.  We  find  it  a  comfort  in  sick- 
ness ;  when  eyes  can  no  longer  follow  the  words  of  a  book, 
our  thoughts  can  dwell  on  the  life  of  our  Lord,  and  our  hps 
express  the  needs  and  desires  of  the  moment  by  the  *  Our 
Father'  or  the  '  Hail,  Mary.' 

"And  if  the  Rosary  is  associated  with  Our  Blessed 
Lady,  it  is  so  because  she  is  our  Lord's  mother.  We  Cath- 
ohcs  find  that  just  in  proportion  as  we  are  devout  to  her, 
so  are  we  faithful  and  fervent  to  our  Lord  and  Saviour. 
The  hves  of  all  of  us  whom  we  call  '  Saints '  have  proved 
this  —  St.  Benedict,  St.  Dominic,  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  St. 
Charles  Borromeo,  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  St.  Francis  de 
Sales,  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  St.  Anselm  of  England  —  all 
loved  our  Lady,  because  in  their  exjjerience  it  drew  them 
nearer  to  their  Lord  and  God.     ... 

"The  enclosed  paper  upon  the  Rosary  of  Mary  was 
written  nearly  forty  years  ago  by  Miss  Augusta  Drew, 
author  of  the  'Life  of  St.  Catherine  of  Siena,'  and  many 
other  rehgious  books,  and  now  for  the  last  thirty  years  a 
nun  at  Stone  in  Staffordshire." 

August  23. — This  Monday  morning  we  had  settled  to  go 
up  another  of  the  beautiful  Antrim  glens.  There  are  seven 
— Glen  Arm,  Glen  Ariff,  Glen  Ballyemon,  Glen  An,  Glen 
Dun,  Glen  Sheaske,  and  Glen  McKearin.  Each  one  has  a 
different  character,  and  all  are  as  yet  equally  unknown  to 
artist,  geologist,  and  antiquary. 

Glen  Ariff,  whither  we  were  bound,  is  the  largest  of  the 
seven,  and  has  two  rivers  tumbUng  down  it ;  we  could  hear 


64  AN  UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

their  noise  rising  up  through  the  mist  which  filled  the 
valley,  and  hid  a  view  which,  we  were  told,  included  the 
opposite  coast  of  Scotland.  Just  before  we  reached  our 
goal,  after  nearly  two  hours  of  steady  ascent,  which  did 
the  utmost  credit  to  Malcolm  and  his  Charlie,  the  white 
fog  cleared  a  Httle,  and  we  saw  both  sides  of  the  glen,  green 
with  pastures  and  thick  with  plantations,  which  it  owes  to 
the  land-owner — Mr.  Conway  Dobbs. 

The  Dobbs  family  rivals  the  McDonnells  and  McAulays 
in  the  persistency  with  which  it  has  taken  root  here,  ever 
since  the  time  of  its  first  ancestor.  Captain  Dobbs,  son  of  a 
city  magnate  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  This  branch  of  it 
owns  a  large  estate ;  in  fact,  nearly  the  whole  of  the  glen. 
Well  planted,  well  cultivated,  and  dotted  with  thousands 
of  sheep,  the  only  blot  on  the  beauty  of  Glen  Ariff  is  the 
red  patches  caused  by  the  working  of  iron  mines,  opened 
ten  years  ago^  when  a  railway  down  to  the  sea  was  also  made. 
Now,  the  price  of  iron  ore  having  suddenly  fallen,  the  works 
are  stopped — the  railway  useless.  But  it  will  take  a  good 
while  before  Nature  can  repair  the  damage  done  her.  Lord 
Antrim,  who  owns  the  mineral  royalties  of  the  glen,  being 
an  absentee  landlord,  does  not  suffer  from  this  ugly  inva- 
sion of  the  beautiful  by  the  practical — but  other  people  do. 

A  waterfall  which  our  artist  sketched,  in  defiance  of  a 
whole  army  of  midges,  is  very  beautiful.  Near  it — or  near 
Cushendun  (there  are  two  traditions,  each  equally  well  at- 
tested)— the  great  Shane  O'Neill,  that  proud  chieftain  who 
used  to  sign,  "I  am  Shane  O'Neill,"  is  said  to  have  been 
murdered  by  the  McDonnells,  whom  he  had  defeated  two 


CUSHENDALL  AND   CUSHENDUN. 


65 


years  before,  near  Ballyeastle. 
These  glens  are  full  of  such 
stories,  concerning  that  cease- 
less struggle  between  the  Scot- 
tish and  English  invaders  and 
the  native  Irish  which  kept  up 
a  condition  of  barbarism  along 
these  shores.  Now  the  great 
famihes  of  the  land  do  not 
fight  over  it!  All  honor  to 
those  who,  like  the  owner  of 
Glen  Ariff,  stay  and  do  their 
best  for  it,  through  every  trou- 
ble and  difficulty. 


WATBllKAMi  AT  (ILEN   AUIFK. 
{jFrvm  a  Draicing  by  F.  Noki,  Patoji.) 


QQ  AN'    UN^KNOWN   COUNTRY. 

August  24. — And  the  loveliest  day  that  ever  "came 
out  of  the  sky."  Also,  our  last  at  Cushendall.  We  were 
due  at  the  Giant's  Causeway  that  night. 

"You  must  go  by  the  coast  road,"  said  our  friend.  "It 
is  a  little  rougher,  but  much  finei'  than  the  ordinary  tourist- 
road.  Malcolm  declares  that  if  you  will  send  your  luggage 
on  by  a  separate  car  along  the  good  road,  he  can  easily 
manage  this  bad  one — with  Charlie." 

Grood  Malcolm's  zeal,  I  fear,  outran  his  discretion,  but 
we  assented  ignorantly  as  gratefully,  and  started  on  an  ex- 
pedition which  we  shall  always  remember  as  one  of  the 
grandest  —  and  roughest  —  roads  we  ever  travelled  in  our 
lives ! 

Up  to  Cushendun,  and  a  mile  or  two  beyond,  it  was  a 
trifle  hilly,  but  picturesque  as  that  v/hich  winds  along  the 
Mediterranean  Riviera.  And  no  Ansonian  sea  could  be 
bluer  or  calmer  than  that  which  lay  beneath  us.  As  empty 
too — scarcely  a  boat  or  sail  dotting  its  solitary  breast. 

The  land  was  everywhere  well  cultivated,  though  so 
close  to  the  sea.  Fields  of  oats  waved  on  every  bit  of 
comparatively  level  ground,  potatoes  flourished  in  nooks 
of  the  cliffs ;  where,  built  in  any  possible  corner,  nestled 
tidy  cottages.  Bright-eyed  children,  quantities  of  fowls, 
and  cows  that  seemed  to  have  the  talent  of  goats  for 
climbing  anywhere,  implied  an  industrious  and  thriving 
community. 

"  Ye're  right,  ma'am,"  said  Malcolm,  pausing  to  converse 
and  to  breathe — he  always  descended  and  led  his  horse, 
uphill  and  downhill,  as  we  began  to  notice.     "  They're  well 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  6,7 

off,  most  of  them  farmers.  They  pays  their  rint,  and  the 
masther's  very  kind  to  them."  E\idently  the  fierce  battle 
between  landlord  and  tenant  was  only  a  tumult  heard  afar 
off  on  this  fortunate  coast. 

Every  minute  it  grew  more  beautiful — and  more  diffi- 
cult. The  girls  were  always  getting  out  and  in,  and  the  car 
itself  took  an  inchned  plane  now  and  again,  which  made 
"  holding  on  "  an  anxious  necessity.  The  intervals  of  level 
ground  became  so  few  that  all  who  could  use  their  legs  did 
so.  For  Charlie — his  tottering  legs  were  painful  to  behold, 
but  his  devoted  Malcolm  encouraged  him — and  me. 

"Don't  throuble  yerself,  ma'am.  Charhe  can  do  it.  I'm 
holding  his  collar  up.  It  was  just  about  this  place  that  a 
horse  in  a  car  T\dth  some  gentlemen  got  choked  with  his 
collar,  going  uphill,  and  dropped  down  dead  on  the  spot." 

After  this  cheerful  information  I  tried  to  look  as  if 
there  was  nothing  on  my  mind,  but  while  I  kept  one  eye 
on  Tor  Point,  Fair  Head,  etc.,  etc.,  the  other  was  fixed  on 
Charlie. 

My  girls  walked  on  and  on,  it  must  have  been  for  over 
twelve  miles,  and  declared  this  was  the  most  splendid  place 
imaginable.  The  views  changed  every  minute ;  the  air  was 
so  bracing  that  they  felt  capable  of  anything.  I  know  not 
whether  we  were  glad  or  sorry  to  reach  the  bit  of  green, 
high  table-land  where,  it  had  been  kindly  aiTanged,  a  little 
trap  should  meet  us  to  take  me  down  the  veiy  steep  de- 
scent and  up  the  ascent,  at  Merlough  Bay. 

It  was  not  there.  No  sign  of  it,  or  of  anything.  Sud- 
denly Malcolm  remembered  a  painful  fact. 


68  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

"  It's  fair-day  at  Ballycastle,  and  there'll  not  be  a  man 
in  the  place — or  a  horse." 

This  was  serious,  as  we  had  trusted  to  getting  a  car 
here — our  luggage,  on  another,  having  preceded  us  to  Bally- 
castle. 

"  Never  you  mind,  ma'am,"  said  Malcolm,  cheerily.  "  If 
it  comes  to  the  worst  we'll  give  Charlie  an  hour  or  two's 
rest,  and  I'll  take  yez  on  to  Ballycastle.  I'll  get  home  by 
daylight  to-morrow  morning." 

And  then  he  proposed  that  the  young  ladies  should 
descend  to  Merlough  Bay,  while  he  "  tuk  care  o'  the  old 
lady  " — which  I  must  say  he  did  most  faithfully. 

There  was  no  road,  but  we  jolted  patiently  across  the 
moor,  he  leading  Charlie,  and  I  holding  on  as  well  as  I 
could,  till  at  last  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  walk,  for  a 
treat.  At  last  we  reached  a  farmhouse — whence,  as  Mal- 
colm had  foreseen,  every  available  horse  and  man  had 
vanished.  He  took  possession  of  the  empty  stable,  intro- 
ducing me  to  the  house,  and  to  the  mistress's  kindly 
hospitality. 

She  was  certainly  "  well  off."  The  furniture  in  her 
parlor — a  beautiful  old  clock,  and  presses  of  mahogany, 
almost  black  with  age— would  have  delighted  a  collector. 
There  were  pictures  of  saints,  and  white  images  of  the 
Virgin  and  her  Child.  "  We're  all  Catholics  in  these  parts," 
Malcolm  had  said.  And  though  the  hens  and  their  fami- 
lies ran  about  the  floor,  and  more  than  one  shepherd's  dog 
rose  up  angrily  from  before  the  turf  fire,  where  he  lay  with 
the  children,  the  place  was  exceedingly  tidy,  and  the  basin 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  69 

of  hot  bread  and  milk  which  the  mistress  gave  me  was 
truly  delicious.  I  say  "  gave  me,"  for  it  was  only  by  stealth 
that  I  was  able  to  insert  a  small  coin  into  the  baby's  pudgy 
hand.  She  would  have  given  me  tea,  or  anything  else  she 
had,  with  the  heartiest  hospitality. 

Not  less  kindness  did  the  girls  meet  with.  Malcolm  and 
I,  sitting  like  two  crows  on  the  hilltop,  and  talking  Avith 
that  mixture  of  friendhness  and  entire  respect  peculiar  to 
Irish  servants,  waited  anxiously  for  them,  and  at  last 
watched  them  slowly  mount  up  from  the  bay — such  a  beau- 
tiful bay !  ("  But  you  couldn't  have  done  it,"  said  Malcolm, 
consolingly.)  They  had  lost  themselves,  and  got  almost 
into  despair,  when  they  saw  a  farmhouse.  The  mistress 
took  them  into  a  most  comfortable  kitchen,  where,  in  front 
of  a  large  fire,  upon  a  luxurious  bed  of  straw,  and  sur- 
rounded by  her  eleven  new-born  babies,  lay  an  enormous 
sow!  "^ 

"  The  good  woman  seemed  very  proud  of  her  interest- 
ing invalid.  'She's  not  a  bit  o'  throuble,  the  crathur! 
Only  she  snores  so  I  can't  sleep  o'  nights.'  It  was  the 
funniest  sight  we  ever  saw." 

And  my  two  English  girls  laughed  at  the  recollection 

as  if  they  never  could  stop  laughing.     They  had  been  most 

hospitably  treated,  and  offered  hot  potato-cakes — bread  is 

rare  in  this  region — but  they  were  still  able  to  attack  the 

provision  -  basket  which  had  been  kindly  filled  at  Cushen- 

dall.     And  they  spoke  enthusiastically  of  the  beauty  of 

Merlough  Bay,  which,  alas,  I  could  not  behold.    And  then 

Charlie,  reappearing  as  fresh  as  ever,  and  Malcolm  cheerily 
5* 


70 


AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 


,  declaring  that  the  additional  five  miles  of  his  journey  were 
"  no  throuble  at  all  at  all,"  we  were  ashamed  to  feel  tired, 
and  started  off  boldly  for  Ballycastle. 

"  Fair  Head  in  foul  weather,"  as  our  artist  saw  it  and 
has  depicted  it,  we  did  not  see,  for  it  stood  out  clear  against 


FAIR   HEAD   IN  FOUL   WEATHER. 

( From  a  Drawing  by   F.  Nokl    Paton.  ) 


the  bluest  skies,  with  the  calmest  of  seas  below.  We 
longed  to  have  been  able  to  do^what  all  tourists  should  do 
— take  a  boat  at  Merlough  Bay,  and  row  under  this  grand 
headland,  with  its  basaltic  pillars,  three  hundred  feet  high, 
its   other  broken  pillars  lying  on  the  beach  below,  and 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN. 


71 


above,  the  Gray  Man's  Path — another  pillar  which,  in  its 
fall  ages  and  ages  ago,  has  lodged  across  a  chasm  in  the 
rock,  and  up  which  on  stormy  nights  a  gray  man  is  said 
to  stalk.  On  the  top  of  Fair  Head  are  three  fresh-water 
lakes,  in  one  of  which  may  still  be  traced  the  remains  of  an 
old  lake  dwelhng,  and  not  far  off  a  cromlech  once  used  for 
badger-baiting.  "  The  fine  old  Irish  gentleman  "  of  yester- 
day— perhaps  even  to-day— was  more  of  a  sportsman  than 
an  archaeologist.  Bonamargy  Abbey,  which  we  passed  a 
short  distance  from  the  road 
(it  really  was  a  road,  level 
and  good  at  last !),  would 
never  have  had  its  ancient 
ruins  disfigured  by  a  hideous, 
slate  -  roofed,  modern  excres- 
cence, and  its  tombs  —  it  was 
for  four  centuries  the  burial- 
place  of  the  McDonnells — bro- 
ken, defaced,  and  destroyed. 

Ballycastle,  which  we 
were  now  approaching,  was  a  hundred  years  since  a  flour- 
ishing town.  Its  valuable  coal-fields,  extending  along  the 
coast  to  Merlough  Bay,  belonged  to  a  Colonel  Boyd,  whose 
influence  brought  about  the  erection  of  a  fine  harbor.  But 
he  died,  and  all  fell  into  decay.  The  harbor  became  a  ruin, 
the  docks  a  green  field.  Speculators  worked  the  coal-fields 
by  fits  and  starts,  but  always  at  a  loss,  and  Ballycastle  was 
fast  sinking  into  obHvion  when  the  railway  between  Bel- 
fast and  Portrush  stopped  at  it — and  saved  it. 


TOMB  OF  THE  FIU8T  LORD  ANTRIM   AT 
BONAMAllGY. 

{From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Noki.  Paton.) 


T2  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

Now,  to  all  appearance,  it  is  a  thriving  place.  As  we 
passed  through  its  suburbs  we  noticed  several  good,  nay, 
handsome  houses.  Its  market-place  was  crammed  with 
people.  In  addition  to  the  groups  of  men  and  beasts  that 
we  had  met  coming  from  the  fair,  booths,  with  dancing  and 
theatrical  artistes  outside,  attracted  each  its  httle  crowd, 
and  in  the  midst  I  saw  more  than  one  woman  trjdng  to 
soothe  or  lead  home  a  drunken  husband  —  whom  nobody 
minded,  or  only  laughed  at. 

Such  sights  from  the  hotel  windows  did  not  encourage 
us  to  stay  the  night  there,  nor  did  a  little  episode  in  the 
coffee-room  —  which  we  shared  with  a  gentleman  and  his 
wife.  She  lay  on  the  sofa  and  looked  as  if  she  had  been 
crying.  Suddenly  the  window  was  thrown  up  from  out- 
side. 

"  Will  your  honor  have  the  carriage  round  at  six?" 
"  At  six,"  answered  "  his  honor,"  rather  grumpily. 
"  And  will  ye  have  the  bull  tied  behind  it  ?" 
"  Certainly,  certainly."    At  which  we  did  not  wonder 
that  the  lady  on  the  top  looked  cross  as  well  as  tired.     But 
it  was  evidently  the  custom  of  the  country. 

We  thought,  in  case  the  bull  might  be  going  our 
way,  we  had  better  di'ive  off  at  once ;  so  we  bade  a  cor- 
dial and  grateful  adieu  to  Malcolm,  who  persisted  that  he 
should  be  home  "  long  before  dayhght,"  and  that  Charlie 
would  not  be  a  bit  the  worse.  Then  we  departed,  in  a 
wagonet  this  time,  where  if  we  dropped  asleep — not  unlike- 
ly t — ^^Q  should  at  least  be  safe  from  falling  off. 

The  evening  shadows,  and  a  slight  drizzle,  made  us  less 


CUSHENDALL  AND    CUSHENDUN.  73 

eager  after  scenery,  yet  when  our  driver  said,  "  Carrick-a- 
rede,  ladies,"  my  girls  roused  themselves  and  insisted,  under 
the  guidance  of  a  small,  a  very  small,  boy,  who  was  cap- 
tured hard  by,  on  going  to  see  it.  In  their  absence  our 
driver  pohtely  began  to  entertain  me. 

"I  druv  a  young  gentleman  to  Carrick-a-rede  the  other 
day,  who  made  a  pictur  of  it.  He  was  a  fine  young  gentle- 
man and  well  up  to  things.  He  seemed  to  think  we  were 
all  Home-Rulers,  but  I  tould  him  no,  the  queen  has  as  loyal 
subjects  in  Ireland  as  she  has  anywhere,  if  she  only  knew 
it.  There's  a  gentleman  named  Pamell,  as  makes  a  great 
talk,  but  half  of  us  don't  know  him,  or  care  for  him.  And 
there's  Mr.  So-and-So,  and  So-and-So — " 

Here  he  entered  into  a  long  political  tirade,  which  I  will 
not  repeat,  and,  indeed,  can  scarcely  remember ;  except  that 
he  wound  up  by  wishing  that  it  would  please  Providence 
to  take  a  certain  old  man — who  had  been,  as  I  insisted,  a 
good  and  great  man  in  his  day — to  another  and  a  better 
world.  I  only  name  this  to  show  how  fierce  on  both  sides 
are  the  political  parties  who  tear  Ireland  to  pieces  between 
them — as  fierce  as  the  feuds  of  those  semi-savages  who 
fought  with  Shane  O'Neill  and  mth  Sorley  Boy  M'Donnell 
along  thesQ  very  shores, 

Dunanynie  Castle,  where  this  renowned  Sorley  Boy  was 
bom  and  died — quietly  in  his  bed,  for  a  wonder! — is  the 
merest  ruin.  But  Dunseverick  Castle,  which  now  loomed 
large  in  the  twilight,  and  distracted  my  gii*ls'  attention 
from  the  wonders  of  Carrick-a-rede  (of  which  more  by  and 
by) — ^is  a  much  older  fortress ;  indeed,  it  is  said  to  have 


u 


AI^   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 


DUNSEVERICK  CASTLE. 

(Fro7n  a  Drawing  by  P.  Noel  Paton.) 


been  built  by  a  Milesian 
from  Asia  Minor  in  the 
year  of  the  world  3668 ! 
Certainly  it  is  mentioned 
in  the  "Annals  of  the 
Four  Masters,"  as  having 
been  visited  and  blessed 
by  St.  Patrick. 

We  longed  to  stop  and 
investigate  it,  standing  on 
its  detached  island  -  rock,  absolutely  impregnable  from  the 
sea,  and  only  connected  with  the  mainland  by  a  natural  port- 
cullis— a  strip  of  green  a  few  yards  wide.  But  the  gather- 
ing darkness  would  have  made  such  an  attempt  very  un- 
safe. And  we  had  still  before  us  miles  of  gloomy,  unknown 
road  ere  we  could  reach  the  Griant's  Causeway. 

What  it  was  like,  or  what  sort  of  refuge  we  should  find 
there  for  our  weary  bones,  was  equally  unknown  to  us,  but 
we  were  too  worn  out  to  speculate.  I  rather  think  for  the 
last  mile  or  two  we  sank  into  total  silence;  the  road 
seemed  interminable,  and  we  felt  as  if  it  were  years  since 
we  had  left  the  happy  shelter  of  Cushendall. 

But  every  journey  comes  to  an  end  some,  time ;  and 
never  did  weary  wayfarers  hail  a  pleasanter  sight  than  the 
gleam  of  light  from  the  opening  door,  or  enjoy  a  more  wel- 
come tea,  and  still  more  welcome  bed,  than  we  did  when  we 
arrived  at  last  at  the  Griant's  Causeway. 


A    XOn  -EASTER. 
(From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Noki.  Paton.) 


PAET  III. 


TffF  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY. 


Everybody  has  heard  of  the  Giant's  Causeway,  but  it  is 
strange  how  few  out  of  Ireland,  or  even  in  Ireland,  have 
seen  it.  Probably  because  it  is  considered — and  perhaps 
was,  tiU  late  years — a  sort  of  Ultima  Thule  of  civihzation; 
its  nearest  hnks  to  which,  Portrush,  Port  Stewart,  and 
Bushmills,  being,  half  a  century  ago,  httle  more  than  vil- 
lages. And  any  one  who  knows  what  an  Iiish  village  is 
now,  can  imagine  what  these  were  then. 

Port  Stewart  afterwards  grew  into  a  small  town,  and  was 
well  abused  as  such  by  one  young  writer,  who  just  passed 
through  it — WilUam  Makepeace  Thackeray — and  as  heart- 
ily praised  by  another — Charles  Lever — who  was  for  some 


76  AN    UNKNOWN    COUNTRY. 

time  its  dispensary  doctor,  and  married  there.  Meanwhile 
Portrush  became  a  railway  terminus  and  a  genteel  water- 
ing-place. But  Httle  Bushmills  remained  in  statu  quo,  inno- 
cent of  tourists,  bathers,  and  sight-seers;  known  only  as 
the  nearest  point  to  the  celebrated  Griant's  Causeway;  un- 
til an  enterprising  engineer,  Mr.  W.  A.  Traill,  conceived 
the  idea  of  utihzing  its  river — the  Bush — ^for  the  water- 
power  of  an  electric  railway;  and  so  opening  up  the  coun- 
try, with  all  its  wonders.  These  are,  magnificent  coast 
scenery ;  ruined  castles,  abbeys,  and  burial-grounds ;  crom- 
lechs; Druidical  circles;  lake-dwelhngs,  and  underground 
caves — treasures  dating  from  prehistoric  times,  and  abso- 
lutely priceless  to  the  artist  and  the  archaeologist. 

But  even  these  learned  gentlemen  must  eat,  drink,  and 
sleep,  and  have  a  few  more  comforts  than  are  supposed 
to  be  found  in  an  Irish  cabin,  where  the  family  repose, 
stretched  out  hke  the  spokes  of  a  wheel,  with  their  feet 
towards  the  turf-fire — of  which  the  smoke  goes  out  by  a 
hole  in  the  roof.  A  slightly  imaginative  description  of 
hfe  in  Ireland — which  Enghsh  tourists  will  not  find  real- 
ized anywhere ;  certainly  not  at  the  Causeway  Hotel. 

Arriving  dead  tired,  we  noted  nothing  except  that  we 
speedily  got  a  most  welcome  tea — and  a  still  more  wel- 
come bed.  Awaking  next  morning,  it  was  to  find  ourselves 
in  a  large,  but  not  too  large,  hotel,  planted  on  a  rising  ground 
near  the  sea.  From  the  seven  windows  of  its  coffee-room 
and  drawing-room  one  could  trace  the  little  bay  below, 
the  outhne  of  shore  beyond,  and  then  away,  away,  across 
the  wide  Atlantic — our  "next    door  neighbor,"  they  told 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  77 

US,  being  New  York.  Malin  Head,  the  last  point  at  which 
transatlantic  voyagers  see  land,  was  dimly  visible  in  the 
distance. 

But  where — and  what — was  the  Giant's  Causeway  ?  Of 
course  we  had  read  about  it,  and  some  of  us  had  seen  pict- 
ures of  it ;  but  I  think  even  the  Violet — the  most  learned 
among  us — had  very  vague  ideas  about  it.  Should  we  at- 
tack it  by  land  or  by  sea  ? 

"  By  sea  is  best,  and  then  you  can  row  first  to  the  caves, 
which  are  very  fine,"  said  a  visitor  who,  in  response  to  a  let- 
ter of  introduction,  had  appeared  at  nine  that  morning,  and 
soon  turned  from  a  stranger  into  a  friend.  "  I  should  ad- 
vise you  to  start  at  once — ^it  is  a  calm  day  "  (alas  !  his  notion 
of  "  a  calm  day  "  and  ours,  we  found  afterwards,  did  not  quite 
coincide).  "  You  may  not  get  such  weather  again.  How 
soon  can  you  be  ready  ?  and  I'll  find  you  the  best  guide  I 
can — John  King — he  knows  everything,  and  everybody 
knows  him." 

Shortly  John  King  stood  at  the  door,  cap  in  hand ;  a 
shrewd-looking,  intelligent  Irishman,  elderly  but .  not  old, 
wiry  and  weatherbeaten. 

"  Sure,  ladies,  it's  a  beautiful  day,  and  I've  got  ye  a  good 
boat — and  I'll  take  yez  down  to  the  landing-stage  in  no 
time." 

The  landing-stage — our  artist  has  sketched  it — was  a  flAt, 
smooth  rock  at  the  foot  of  a  deep  descent,  down  to  one  of 
the  many  small  bays  that  indent  the  coast.  We  had  the 
place  all  to  ourselves,  for  the  hotel  was  nearly  empty — 
as  it  had  been,  we  heard,  from  the  time  the  Belfast  riots 


Y8 


AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 


began ;  and  the  little  handful  of  tourists  who  come  by  rail 
and  car  for  a  "  day  out "  rarely  appear  before  noon. 

The  waves  ran  gently  in  and  out 

Ji~  of   this    peaceful,  sheltered    cove;    so 

entered    gayly   one   of    the   boats 

lying    there  —  good, 

strong,     heavy-    \ 

oared       boats. 


LANDING-PLACE  NEAR  THE  GIANT  S  CAUSEWAY. 
(From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Noel  Paton.) 


looking  as  if  accustomed  to  be  much  knocked  about 
by  the  waves.  As  in  a  few  minutes  more  they  certainly 
were. 

I  am  no  geologist,  and  when  John  King  began  to  dilate 
on  basalt  and  hmestone,  strata  and  formations,  I  felt  exceed- 


THE   GIANT'S    CAUSEWAY.  79 

ingly  small.  So  did  the  Brown  Bird,  and  so  also  did  the 
Wild  Irish  Girl — in  spite  of  her  hitherto  proud  position 
among  the  castles  and  graves  of  her  forefathers.  The  Violet 
alone  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  We  left  her  to  sustain  con- 
versation, and  admired  silently  Portcoon  Cave — where  a  her- 
mit giant,  who  had  vowed  to  eat  no  food  from  human  hands, 
was  fed  by  seals,  which  brought  it  to  him  in  their  mouths ; 
and  Dunkerry  Cave,  four  hundred  feet  long  by  sixty  feet 
high,  and  only  approachable  by  water — ^not  habitable,  there- 
fore, even  by  giants.  Its  solemn  black  basalt  walls,  against 
which  great  hillocks  of  waves  slowly  rose  and  fell,  gave  one 
a  strange  sense  of  the  power  of  the  sea,  and  the  utter  pow- 
erlessness  of  petty  man. 

By  and  by  our  heavy  boat  began  to  toss  Uke  a  skiff  on 
the  huge  rollers  that  came  tumbhng  in  from  the  Atlantic. 
And  when  the  Bird  quoted  gravely  a  verse  from  some  anon- 
ymous poem — 

"There's  a  sort  of  an  up-and-down  motion 
On  the  breast  of  the  troublesome  ocean, 
"Which  gives  me  a  shadowy  notion 

That  I  never  was  meant  for  the  sea" — 

we  all  coincided  so  heartily  that  John  King's  proposal  to 
"take  the  long  course"  and  row  round  the  Pleaskin  was 
decidedly  negatived.  I  fear  he  despised  us;  but  we  were 
content  to  be  despised. 

What  he  must  have  thought  of  our  learning  after  his 
experience  with  "Huxley  and  Tyndall,"  as  he  familiarly 
called  them,  we  dared  not  speculate.     We  only  inquiivd 


80  'AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

respectfully  what  these   shining  lights  had  talked  about 
when  they  visited  the  Griant's  Causeway. 

"  'Deed,  ma'am,"  said  John,  with  a  twinkle  of  his  shrewd 
eye,  "  they  didn't  say  much.  Ye  -see,  they  wanted  to  get  as 
much  out  of  me  as  they  could,  and  I  wanted  to  get  as  much 
as  I  could  out  of  them.  Sure,  them  professors  is  much  the 
same  as  everybody  else,  to  my  thinking.  I  tuk  out  the 
British  Association  some  years  ago.  There  were  several' 
boatfuls,  an'  I  showed  'em  everything,  but  they  didn't  say 
much.  It  was  a  middhng  fine  day ;  though  not  so  calm  as 
this  one." 

Calm  indeed!  We  did  not  contest  the  point;  only 
hoped  the  British  Association  had  enjoyed  itself. 

But  now  for  one  brief  explanation,  in  the  humble  way 
in  which  alone  I  dare  offer  it,  to  readers  possibly  as  igno- 
rant of  geology  as  myself. 

For  one  thousand  square  miles  on  the  north  of  Ireland 
there  extends  a  sheet  of  basalt,  varying  from  ten  to  a  thou- 
sand feet  in  thickness.  It  is  a  sort  of  volcanic  lava,  which 
must  have  been  poured  out,  molten,  uncounted  ages  ago. 
To  volcanic  action  is  also  ascribed  the  fact  that  when  this 
sheet  of  basalt  nears  the  coast  it  becomes  columnar  in  char- 
acter. Fair  Head,  Bengore,  the  Pleaskin,  are  promontories 
composed  of  enormous  pillars,  which  at  Port-na-Spania — a 
httle  bay  so  named  because  one  of  the  Spanish  Armada  went 
to  pieces  there — slope  gradually  down  to  the  sea,  forming  a 
perfect  causeway,  which  may  possibly  extend  right  under 
the  sea  to  the  opposite  coast  of  Scotland.  On  the  islands  of 
Staffa  and  lona  the  same  formation  reappears,  giving  rise  to 


TIIK    PLK.VSKIN    AND   "OIANTS    KYE-OLA.S8.  ' 
{Snyraoed  by  O.  I,ai:oitr,  /lom  a  Drnwitiri  b;/  F.  Nori.  Patox.) 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  83 

the  legend  that  it  was  made  by  Fin  MacCoul,  the  Irish  giant, 
out  of  pohteness  to  a  Scotch  giant,  whom  he  wished  to 
come  over  and  fight  him,  "  without  wetting  the  sole  of  his 
foot." 

John  King  told  us  this,  and  many  other  stories ;  point- 
ing out  the  Chimney-tops,  the  Giant's  Organ,  the  Giant's 
Grandmother,  etc. — Irish  imagination  gives  a  name  to  every- 
thing. And  this  opportune  moment,  when  the  boat  was 
pitching  violently,  the  boatmen  chose  for  showing  us  boxes 
of  specimens — which  we  devoutly  wished  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea.  Hopeless  of  purchasers,  they  pulled  up,  and  sud- 
denly bade  us  land.  The  younger  folk  eagerly  leaped  out. 
For  me,  when  at  my  age  you  find  yourself  with  one  foot  on 
a  shppery  water-worn  rock,  and  the  other — nowhere  par- 
ticular, with  the  boat  sinking  from  you  into  the  trough  of  a 
big  wave,  the  sensation  is— not  exactly  pleasant !  I  owe  it 
to  John  King's  strong  arm  and  steady  hand  that,  instead 
of  sitting  here  writing,  I  am  not  at  this  moment  quietly 
sleeping  among  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  Spaniards  who 
he  drowned  in  the  little  creek  beside  the  Giant's  Causeway. 

Most  people  on  first  sight  of  the  Causeway  are  disap- 
pointed, but  every  minute's  observation  lessens  this  feeUng. 
It  is  a  wonderful  place — hke  notliing  else  in  the  world.  Im- 
agine a  great  sloping  natural  jetty,  jutting  out  into  the  sea, 
its  floor  composed  of  vertical  basaltic  columns,  on  the  tops 
of  which  you  walk — the  bottoms  being  simk  deep  into  the 
sea.  There  are  forty  thousand  of  these  columns,  and  they 
are  set  so  close  together  that  they  fonn  a  pavement ;  fitting 
as  neatly  as  a  parquet  floor.     Hexagons,  septagons,  penta- 


84  AN  UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

gons,  are  all  as  exact  as  if  outlined  by  a  human  hand  and  a 
carpenter's  rule.  The  columns  are  not  formed  of  a  single 
^block,  but  in  pieces  varying  from  one  to  two  feet  high,  piled 
each  on  each,  and  wedged  firmly  and  fitted  in  together,  the 
one  end  being  convex  and  the  other  concave.  Nature 
mimics  Art  so  perfectly  that  it  is  difficult  to  believe  the 
whole  was  not  the  handiwork  of  man. 

In  spite  of  our  guide's  voluminous  and  rather  oppressive 
information  as  to  details — such  as  the  one  triangular  col- 
umn, the  three  nine-sided  columns,  the  Giant's  Loom,  and 
the  Lady's  Wishing-chair — whereon  sat  a  respectable  young 
person  with  a  strong  Belfast  accent — the  impression  of  the 
place  was  so  mysterious  and  unaccountable  that  a  sense  of 
awe  crept  over  us.  What  strange  agencies  must  have  been 
at  work — what  eons  after  eons  must  have  slipped  by  since 
the  making  of  the  Causeway !  There  it  is  now,  and  will  re- 
main until  the  end  of  the  world.  Yet  two  hundred  years 
ago  it  was  absolutely  unknown.  There  is  no  record  of  it  in 
any  ancient  Irish  hterature ;  and  in  "  Lord  Antrim's  Parlor  " 
— a  nook  in  the  rocks,  chosen  by  the  omnipresent  British 
tourist  whereon  to  inscribe  his  all-important  name — the 
earhest  date  cut  is  1717. 

The  tradition  of  the  Spanish  Armada,  which  attempted 
to  sail  round  this  coast,  and  was  wrecked  there,  vessel  after 
vessel,  is  stiU  rife.  About  the  one  lost  at  Port-na-Spania 
there  is  no  doubt.  The  story  runs  that  the  captain  mistook 
the  three  Chimney-tops — rocks  exceedingly  hke  chimneys — 
for  the  pinnacles  of  Dunluce  Castle,  and  so  ran  ashore. 
Every  soul  perished,  except  four  sailors  who  were  picked  up 


THE  GIANTS   CAUSEWAY.  85 

alive.  For  centuries  Spanisli  coins  were  occasionally  found 
on  the  beach  at  low  water,  and  one  large  chest  full  of  treas- 
ure was  taken  to  Dunluce  Castle.  Thence,  long  after,  it 
was  removed  to  Ballymagarry  and  Ballylough;  being 
finally  claimed  by  the  Earl  of  Antrim,  in  whose  posses- 
sion the  empty  coffer — the  treasure  having  long  vanished 
— still  remains. 

John  King,  though  he  conscientiously  pointed  out  the 
spot  and  told  the  tale,  seemed  more  interested  in  a  modem 
shipwreck — one  of  those  tragic  stories  which  must  be  com- 
mon enough  on  this  dangerous  coast.  An  American  hner, 
the  Camhria,  had  been  wrecked  in  sight  of  land,  and  every 
soul  perished. 

"  She  went  down  just  over  there "  (by  Mahn  Head). 
"  Some  of  us  rowed  out  to  her,  but  it  was  too  late.  We 
brought  home  one  dead  woman  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat." 

He  spoke  of  it  in  a  matter-of-fact  way — as  if  an  every- 
day occurrence  in  these  parts.  But  the  awful  element 
with  which  they  have  to  deal  has  its  effect,  moral  and 
physical,  on  a  seaboard  race.  John  King,  though  long  over 
sixty,  looked  hale  and  hearty,  had  an  arm  of  iron,  and 
muscular,  surefooted  hmbs  that  many  a  young  man  might 
have  envied.  "  I'm  not  done  yet,"  he  said,  with  a  smile, 
when  he  told  me  how  old  he  was :  and  may  it  be  long  be- 
fore he  is  "  done  " ! 

At  parting  he  presented  me  with  a  four-leaved  sham- 
rock— that  rare  find  which  grants  every  wish  of  the  pos- 
sessor; offering  another  to  the  Violet — whom  he  seemed 
to  regard  with  gi'eater  respect  than  any  of  us.    Doubtless 


86  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

she  will  keep  it  and  benefit  by  it.  I  gave  mine  away 
where  it  will  be  more  useful  than  to  me,  whose  "wish- 
ing" days  are  all  done. 

Returning  to  lunch,  we  found  the  empty  coffee-room 
enhvened  by  a  hot  discussion  between  two  new-comers — 
a  mild  and  rather  melancholy-looking  American  and  a 
rotund  specimen  of  "John  Bull" — the  John  Bull  who  has 
made  himself  (or  rather  his  money,  a  very  different  thing), 
and  considers  all  the  world,  except  England,  scarcely  good 
enough  for  him  to  set  his  foot  on.  During  our  innocent 
lunch  of  bread  and  jam  and  milk  we  heard  him  loudly 
ordering  his,  which  was  rather  extensive,  and  ended  with 
champagne,  and  haranguing  violently  against  Ireland. 

"  It's  a  wretched  country,  and  the  Irish  are  such  a  dis- 
contented lot,  they'd  never  be  satisfied  with  anything  we  " 
(oh,  that  magnificent  we  !)  "  gave  them." 

Here  the  Yankee  tried  to  put  in  a  good  word,  but  was 
quickly  annihilated. 

"  You  Americans  are  just  as  bad.  You  back  Ireland  in 
all  her  rebellion.  And  what  are  you  yourselves?  Only 
'  third  class.'  You've  no  gentlemen  among  you.  And  your 
ladies — they're  not  bad-looking,  but  they  get  old  in  no 
time;  after  five-and-twenty  they  haven't  a  tooth  in  their 
heads." 

Here  the  much-enduring  American  blazed  up.  "  Sir, 
I  could  tell  you  a  few  things  about  your  Enghsh  ladies,  if 
there  were  not  some  of  them  present — " 

We  never  heard  the  end  of  the  sentence,  for  we  rose  at 
once  and  departed — the  three  girls  burning  with  indigna- 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  87 

tion.  Age  takes  things  more  calmly  than  youth ;  but  I  de- 
termined, as  a  warning  to  travellers,  to  write  dowTi  verbatim 
the  conversation  of  these  two  men.  I  know  nothing  of 
either — not  even  their  names — but  they  deserve  to  be  thus 
anonymously  pilloried :  it  cannot  harm  them,  and  may  do 
them  good.  The  slow-brained,  overbearing,  money-lo\ing 
Saxon  is  of  all  things  most  repellent  to  the  proud,  irascible, 
impassioned  Celt.  Neither  can  comprehend  the  other's 
virtues,  while  all  their  faults  are  obnoxiously  clear.  No 
wonder  that  England  finds  it  so  difficult  to  govern  Ireland. 

We  were  getting  a  httle  hot  ourselves  over  the  never- 
ending  question  of  race — equally  balanced  between  us  four 
— when  the  scale  was  turned  by  the  sudden  appearance  of 
a  fifth  addition  to  our  party;  whom,  following  the  same 
system  of  Incus  a  non  Incendo,  I  will  entitle  the  Barbarous 
Scot.  Middle-aged  but  merry,  pleasant  and  paternal,  the 
three  girls  hailed  him  with  enthusiasm.  He  had  travelled 
without  stopping  for  thirty-six  hours,  yet  was  in  the  best 
of  spirits,  determined  to  enjoy  everything. 

Apparently  he  had  thought  there  was  httle  or  nothing 
to  be  enjoyed,  for  he  looked  round  the  hotel  with  an  air  of 
mild  surprise,  ^*  Why,  you  are  quite  comfortable !" 

Certainly  we  were — even  in  the  far  north  of  Ireland. 
We  had  all  that  travellers  could  need,  and  some  things 
which  they  seldom  get — a  charming  di*a wing-room  and  a 
first-rate  piano.  Also,  hear  it  not,  ghosts  of  Fin  MacCoul 
and  the  Gray  Man! — there  was  actually  between  us  and 
the  wild  Atlantic — an  asphalte  lawn-tennis  ground ! 

The  Barbarous  Scot  eyed  everytliing  ^vitll  great  con- 


88  AN-   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

tent ;  and  then  made  the  very  natural  inquiiy,  "  And  where 
is  the  Giant's  Causeway  f 

He  was  taken  thither,  not  by  sea — he  had  had  enough 
of  that — but  down  the  steep  path,  which  is  really  the  best 
way  to  see  it,  and  from  which  the  groups  of  midday  tour- 
ists had  all  disappeared,  leaving  the  place  as  silent  and 
solitary  as  heart  could  desire. 

Equally  so  was  the  high  cliff-walk,  eastward  towards 
the  Pleaskin,  and  looking  down  on  the  Causeway,  with  its 
surroundings  of  strange-shaped  rocks  and  boihng  sea  be- 
tween— on  this  coast  it  seems  as  if  the  sea  could  never  be 
quiet — while  turning  westward  you  could  see  the  clear 
curve  of  the  distant  coast — part  Donegal,  part  Derry — with 
Mahn  Head  at  the  farthest  point.  Beyond  was  the  ocean, 
which  at  the  north  of  Ireland  still  looks  as  desolate  as 
in  the  time  of  the  mythical  giants  or  foreign  marauders, 
Picts  and  Scots,  as  much  barbarians  as  the  Irish  race 
they  attacked  and  vainly  tried  to  conquer. 

As  I  watched  the  sun  drop  down,  a  red  ball  of  fire, 
into  the  Atlantic,  it  was  easy  to  imagine  the  past,  and 
difficult  to  go  back  into  the  present,  an  excellent  tahle  cV 
hote  and  polite  conversation — which  to  our  amazement  we 
saw  going  on  at  the  farther  end  of  the  table  between  John 
Bull  and  the  American.  They  must  have  settled  their 
httle  difficulty,  and  agreed  that  "  Live  and  let  live  "  is  the 
best  motto  for  opposing  nationahties  as  well  as  individuals. 

By  the  time  we  went  up  into  the  drawing-room  the 
wind  and  sea  had  risen,  and  were  howling  outside  Hke  a 
thousand    demons.      Windows    rattled,  doors    shook:    we 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  89 

could  hardly  hear  ourselves  speak.  But  the  fire  burned 
brightly,  as  if  it  had  been  December  instead  of  August ; 
the  jest  and  the  laugh  went  round;  we  all  felt  so  happy 
and  "  at  home  "  that  it  was  difficult  to  beheve  we  were  sit- 
ting in  a  strange  hotel  at  the  utmost  north  of  Ireland. 

August  26th. — And  the  most  hopeless  day  imaginable ! 
The  storm  had  abated — the  girls  declared  they  had  actually 
felt  their  beds  shaking  during  the  night ;  but  daybreak 
brought  calm,  and  a  downpour  of  rain  that  seemed  as  if  it 
would  never  cease.  A  visit  to  the  electric  tramway  be- 
tween Portrush  and  Bushmills,  and  to  Dunluce  Castle, 
which  we  had  arranged  with  our  kind  stranger-friend  over- 
night, became  impracticable.  However,  we  had  letters  to 
write;  and  found  that  we  could  communicate  with  the 
outer  world  by  telegraph  as  easily  here  as  we  could  at 
home.  So  we  settled  ourselves  stoically  in-doors — leav- 
ing the  Barbarous  Scot,  who  of  all  things  detests  doing 
nothing,  to  enjoy  himself  under  a  mackintosh  outside, 
or  stand  inside,  with  a  field-glass,  intently  contemplating 
something  in  the  far  distance — perhaps  New  York. 

At  •  noon  it  began  to  clear  —  Irish  weather  does  clear 
in  the  most  extraordinary  way,  when  you  least  expect  it. 
Our  original  plan  was  vain ;  but  half  a  day  was  too  much 
to  lose — so  we  decided  on  revisiting  Camck-a-rede,  which 
the  girls  declared  they  had  only  half  seen  in  the  dim 
twilight  two  days  before. 

It  was  a  gray  day  still,  with  occasional  droppings  of 
rain ;  but  we  determined  to  enjoy  it.    We  pointed  out  to 


90  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

the  Barbarous  Scot  all  the  places  we  had  already  seen — 
Dunseverick,  which  looked  grand  against  the  dull  gray 
sky,  and  which  he  allowed  was  one  of  the  finest  old  castles 
he  had  ever  beheld ;  Ballintoy,  which  he  considered  "  a 
wretched  hole,"  as  perhaps  it  was.  But  the  ragged  inhabit- 
ants, who  came  out  to  look  at  us,  only  looked ;  not  one  of 
them  begged,  as,  alas !  is  often  done  in  Ireland — and  else- 
where. And  when  we  alighted,  to  walk  past  the  large 
quarries  in  the  open  cliff,  the  quarrymen  were  very  civil, 
and  the  man  with  a  flag  who  hurried  us  on — as  they  were 
waiting  to  "  blast "  until  we  had  gone  by — did  his  duty  as 
considerately  as  possible. 

When  we  paused,  out  of  breath,  and  deafened  by  the 
explosion  behind  us,  the  Barbarous  Scot,  who  evidently 
thought  he  had  been  brought  a  long  and  difficult  road  to 
see  nothing,  demanded — as  some  readers  may  also  demand 
— "And  what  is  Carrick-a-rede f 

Carrick-a-rede  is  an  isolated  rock  separated  from  the 
mainland  by  a  deep  chasm  of  about  sixty  feet  across — the 
island  itself  being  ninety  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 
Over  this  chasm  is  a  bridge,  so  shght  that  in  our  artist's 
sketch  it  is  invisible.  It  is  made  with  two  ropes — barred 
by  transverse  pieces  of  wood  so  as  to  form  a  footway.  A 
third  rope  is  used  as  a  guide-rope  for  the  hand.  Across 
this  perilous  bridge  the  fisher-folk — men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren— pass  and  repass ;  often  carrying  heavy  weights,  as  the 
island  is  an  excellent  place  for  salmon-fishing.  One  false 
step  and  down  they  would  go  into  the  boiling  sea,  which 
makes  a  perpetual  whirlpool  through  this  narrow  channel. 


CAKKICK-A-REDE     BY     MOONLIGHT. 

(From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Noel  Paton.) 


When  we  reached  the  spot  three  men  were  preparing  to 
cross,  one  at  a  time,  as  the  bridge  swings  so,  the  footway 
seeming  to  swing  one  way  and  the  guide-rope  another. 
Also,  the  island  being  somewhat  liigher  than  the  cliff-side 
opposite,  there  were  several  feet  of  a  steep  slope  befoi*e 
reaching  the  centre  of  the  bridge.  And  the  noise  and  roar 
of  the  waters  below  dashing  themselves  against  black, 
jagged  rocks — it  turned  one  dizzy  to  look  and  to  listen. 
But  the  three  men  crossed,  one  after  the  other,  with  com- 
plete indifference,  and  ascended  the  ladder — which  was 
fixed  against  the  rocky  point  where  we  stood — laughing 
and  joking  among  themselves. 


92  ^N'   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

"  Ay,  ay,  ma'am,"  said  one  whom  I  spoke  to — an  elderly 
man — "  it  needs  a  bit  o'  care  an'  a  steady  foot.  But  we're 
used  to  it.  We  begin  it  as  children,  and  then  we're  all 
right." 

"Does  no  one  ever  fallf 

He  paused  a  minute.  "A  year  ago  a  man  went  over. 
But  he  was  hearty." 

Hearty^  we  found,  is  the  local  euphemism  for  drunk. 
"  And  of  course  he  was  drowned  ?" 

The  fisherman  pointed  to  the  whirlpool  below. 
"Couldn't  hve  two  minutes,  tJiere.'^ 

"Did  you  get  his  bodyf 

A  shake  of  the  head  only.  "  Knocked  to  bits — sure  to 
be,"  said  the  fisherman,  as  he  shouldered  his  bundle — ^nets, 
I  think ;  but  each  of  the  three  men  carried  something — 
and  marched  off  up  the  steep  hillside.  These  Antrim  men 
have  the  Scottish  characteristic  of  speaking  but  httle,  and 
seldom  unless  spoken  to. 

After  that  we  watched  more  men  come  across,  six  in  all, 
and  then  our  three  girls  descended  the  chff-ladder.  One, 
the  Violet,  being  "  young  and  foolish,"  set  her  foot  on  the 
first  step  of  the  bridge — but  wisely  drew  back  again.  We 
wondered  if  our  artist,  who  we  knew  had  been  there,  had 
crossed  it. 

"  Depend  upon  it  he  has !  No  active  young  fellow  could 
resist  the  pleasure  of  doing  it,"  said  the  Barbarous  Scot. 

I  said  I  hoped  this  young  fellow  would  have  the  sense 
to  resist  doing  a  foolhardy  thing,  except  for  duty  or  necessi- 
ty.    The  girls,  having  no  data  to  go  upon,  argued  the  point 


THE   GIANTS   CAUSEWAY.  93 

in  the  abstract ;  and  thence  ensued  one  of  those  etliical 
conversations  over  which  we  were  wont  to  beguile  the  time 
— sometimes  fighting  so  energetically  that  we  quite  forgot 
what  we  were  fighting  about.  (We  afterwards  found  that 
this  dispute  was  like  that  of  the  two  knights  on  either  side 
of  the  shield.  Our  artist,  when  questioned,  repUed  com- 
X)osedly,  "  Oh,  yes ;  the  island  was  the  best  point  for  sketch- 
ing; so  I  crossed."  But  I  would  advise  most  tourists  to 
think  twice  before  venturing  upon  the  bridge  of  Canick-a- 
rede.) 

It  was  growing  late — yet  we  lingered;  listening  to  the 
roar  of  the  waves  below,  and  looking  at  the  sea  beyond — 
wide  and  blank,  except  for  two  islands.  One,  Sheep 
Island,  w^as  a  mere  dot  on  the  water.  There  is  a  supersti- 
tion that  only  twelve  sheep  can  be  pastured  upon  it ;  if 
thirteen  are  landed  there,  they  starve ;  if  eleven,  they  over- 
eat themselves  and  die.  Rathhn  Island,  lying  like  a  nari'ow 
fish  on  the  top  of  the  water,  five  miles  distant  from  the 
shore,  is  a  curious  place — of  wliich  we  afterwards  heard  a 
good  deal. 

An  anonymous  writer,  two  centuries  back,  calling  it  by 
its  ancient  name  of  Raghery — describes  it  as  "  shaped  Uke 
an  Irish  stocking,  the  toe  of  which  pointeth  to  the  main- 
land." It  is  five  miles  long  by  half  a  mile  broad;  veiy 
rocky  to  the  westward — some  rocks  taking  the  columnar 
form  as  at  the  Causeway  —  while  the  eastern  slope  is  fertile 
and  cultivated.  Its  inhabitants,  once  about  fifteen  hun- 
dred, are  now  not  more  than  five  hundred  souls — exclusive- 
ly farmers  and  fishemien.      They  speak  a  combination  of 


94  -AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

Irish  and  Scottish  Gaehc,  but  very  little  English ;  and  are 
a  distinct  and  remarkable  race,  hardy,  daring,  and  super- 
stitious ;  and  clinging  closely  to  their  old  history,  or  tradi- 
tion, for  it  is  not  easy  to  divide  the  two. 

The  quantity  of  human  bones  found  on  the  island 
implies  that  it  must  have  been  the  scene  of  many  a  forgot- 
ten battle ;  and  the  islanders  speak  with  a  wrath  as  hot  as 
if  it  had  happened  yesterday  of  a  massacre  about  the  time 
of  Elizabeth,  when  all  the  women  living  there,  except  one, 
whose  name  was  McCurdy,  were  flung  over  the  rocks  into 
the  sea.  But  the  only  visible  relics  of  antiquity  are  a  part 
of  the  cliffs  still  called  "  the  White  Palace,"  where  a  Nor- 
wegian king  is  said  to  have  courted  the  daughter  of  an 
Irish  chieftain ;  and  "  Bruce's  Castle  " — a  mere  fragment — 
supposed  to  be  one  of  the  many  refuges  of  that  great  Scot- 
tish hero. 

Visitors  to  Rathlin  are  few^,  as  the  only  communication 
between  it  and  Ballycastle,  the  nearest  point  to  the  main- 
land, is  by  open  boat ;  and  narrow  as  the  channel  is,  some- 
times it  cannot  be  crossed  for  days  or  weeks. 

Its  fauna  and  flora  are  said  to  be  interesting.  There  are 
no  frogs  —  which,  spite  of  St.  Patrick,  have  crept  into  the 
mainland  —  but  there  are  wild  goats,  Cornish  choughs, 
gyrfalcons,  and  abundance  of  puffins  and  guillemots.  Two 
tiny  fresh-water  lakes  furnish  some  rare  lacustrine  plants. 
In  fact,  Rathlin  would  be  a  desirable  spot  for  any  tour- 
ist who  was  not  particular  about  his  accommodation — and 
indifferent  as  to  the  length  of  time  he  stayed. 

Though  boasting  a  priest  and  a  parson,  it  is  said  to  be 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  95 

happily  free  of  both  doctors  and  lawyers.  The  only  ad- 
ministrator of  justice  is  Mr.  Gage,  the  owner  of  the  island, 
and  a  permanent  resident  there.  Being  a  legally  appointed 
J. P.,  he  settles  all  disputes  among  the  innocent  and  peace- 
ful inhabitants,  to  whom  he  is — report  declares — an  excel- 
lent landlord.  So,  on  the  whole,  Rathlin  may  be  considered 
a  happy  island. 

We  regarded  it  with  longing,  though  to  visit  it  would, 
we  felt,  be  impracticable.  But  those  adventurous  souls 
who  do  so  may  be  sure  of  the  pleasure  which  there  always 
is  in  investigating  an  almost  unknown  place,  where  every- 
thing is  strange  and  new. 

The  fishermen  who  came  from  Carrick-a-rede  told  us  we 
could  reach  the  main  road  without  recrossing  the  quarries ; 
so  we  went.  It  was  a  stiff  chmb,  up  a  shppery,  gi*assy 
slope.  I  sat  and  rested  at  the  roadside  while  the  others 
went  on  to  send  back  the  car  from  Ballintoy;  amusing 
myself  with  watching  two  beautiful  white  goats  that  were 
tethered  near  a  cottage  —  out  of  which  soon  came  the 
mistress.  She  looked,  as  to  her  clothes,  what  in  England 
would  be  called  "a  bundle  of  rags"  —  but  had  a  bright, 
clean,  smiling  face,  and  the  pleasant  manner  which  you 
seldom  miss  in  Ireland. 

"  Yell  be  looking  at  my  goats,  ma'am  ?  They're  bonnie 
craythurs,  aren't  they  ?    And  they  give  such  a  lot  o'  milk." 

I  said  I  supposed  they  served  instead  of  a  cow. 

"  'Deed,  an'  we  couldn't  keep  a  cow — any  of  us.  She'd 
eat  too  much.  But  these  eat  very  little'* — patting  the 
snowy  necks  of  her  goats,  who  seemed  to  know  her  well — 


96  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 


u 


an'  their  milk's  wondherful.  D'ye  know,  ma'am,"  look- 
ing in  my  face  with  a  simple  confidence  which  was  quite 
touching,  "I  made  three  pounds  of  butther  last  week — 
besides  the  milk  for  the  childher." 

I  expressed  surprise  and  congratulation,  and  then  her 
sympathy  flowed  towards  me. 

"Ye're  looking  tired,  ma'am.  Ye'll  have  been  to  Car- 
rick-a-rede "?  It's  a  steep  brae" — so  many  Scottish  words 
and  phrases,  I  noted,  were  current  here — "  Will  I  fetch  you 
a  chair  ?  or  would  ye  come  inside  ?  or  maybe  ye'd  like  a 
drink  o'  milk  ?" 

"  Inside  "  was  an  abode  about  as  large  and  not  so  well- 
built  as  that  of  my  pig  at  home.  And  I  had  tasted  goat's 
milk  once — but  have  no  intention  of  doing  it  twice.  Never- 
theless the  hospitality  was  dechned — I  trust — as  gratefully 
as  if  it  had  come  from  a  palace.  We  stood  a  long  time 
talking  together,  and  admiring  the  goats,  till  she  at  last 
bade  me  "Good-day"  with  cheerful  politeness,  and  took  her 
"craythurs"  with  her  into  the  cabin  —  which,  no  doubt, 
they  shared  with  the  rest  of  the  family.  And  yet  "John 
Bull"  that  morning  had  declared  that  the  Irish  were  al- 
ways discontented ! 

I  allow,  there  is  a  wholesome  discontent  which  rouses 
into  amendment,  and  there  is  a  lazy  content  which  ends  in 
hunger  and  rags.  But  between  these  two  lies  a  happy 
medium.  And  I  must  say,  throughout  the  north  of  Ireland 
I  was  less  struck  by  the  poverty  than  by  the  cheerfulness 
with  which  it  is  borne. 

The  gi'ay  day  had  brightened  into  a  splendid  evening. 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  97 

and  we  drove  back  westward,  facing  one  of  the  grandest 
sea-sunsets  I  ever  saw.  At  the  hotel  door  we  found  wait- 
ing two  of  the  many  kind  stranger-friends  who  seemed  to 
turn  up  everywhere.  From  them  we  gained  no  end  of 
information,  and  spent  with  them  one  of  those  social  acci- 
dental evenings  which  are  the  true  enjoyment  of  traveUing; 
when  both  sides  have  to  break  into  absolutely  new  ground, 
and  find  therein  much  that  they  never  expected  to  find,  but 
can  warmly  appreciate  when  found. 

August  27th. — As  usual,  the  bad  day  was  followed  by 
one  so  gorgeous  that  we  said  at  once,  "What  a  day  for 
Dunluce !" 

"And  for  the  electric  railway,"  added  the  Barbarous 
Scot,  who  is  mechanically  -  minded,  and  had  been  filling 
his  soul  overnight  with  turbines,  dynamos,  and  what  not. 
But  as  I  do  not  understand  these  things,  and  have  re- 
ceived so  often  the  humiliating  advice,  "Don't  let  your 
ignorance  be  kno^Ti,"  I  will  not  commit  myself  to  any 
scientific  explanations. 

However,  I  may  safely  say  a  word  or  two  about  this 
railway,  which  is  the  great  feature  of  the  district,  and  the 
key  which  may  unlock  its  resources  to  both  pleasure  and 
commerce. 

About  1881  Sir  William  Siemens,  Sir  William  Thomson, 
and  Mr.  W.  A.  Traill,  all  men  of  practical  scientific  knowl- 
edge, and  the  two  latter  connected  by  birth  with  the  north 
of  Ireland,  conceived  the  idea  of  opening  up  the  country, 
utilizing  labor,  and  bringing  in  capital,  by  means  of  an 
7 


98  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

electric  tramway,  to  extend  from  Portrush  to  the  Griant's 
Causeway,  and  to  be  worked  by  the  abundant  water-power 
of  the  river  Bush,  at  a  salmon  leap  near  Bushmills.  It  was 
to  be  constructed  on  a  raised  footway  along  the  main  road 
— a  very  good  one,  which  runs  close  by  the  coast. 

Enormous  opposition  arose — as  is  often  the  case  with 
suggested  improvements  in  Ireland.  The  principal  land- 
owners, and  the  directors  of  the  Northern  Counties  Rail- 
way, set  themselves  equally  against  it.  Into  their  reasons, 
or  motives,  it  is  needless  to  enter;  since,  as  nothing  succeeds 
like  success,  probably  all  these  excellent  gentlemen  will 
have  changed  their  minds  by  now.  But  at  the  time  they 
were  a  great  hinderance  to  what  outsiders  would  have  con- 
sidered a  permanent  benefit  to  the  country. 

"  I  must  distinctly  state,"  one  who  had  knowledge  of 
the  facts  said  to  me,  "  that  under  any,  system  of  local  self- 
government,  guided  by  local  prejudices,  the  originators  of 
the  tramway  would  never  have  been  able  to  carry  it 
through.  Only  by  applying  to  an  unbiassed,  extraneous 
tribunal  such  as  the  imperial  Parhament  could  they  have 
succeeded  in  attaining  their  end." 

But  it  was  attained.  They  got  their  bills  passed,  their 
railway  constructed,  and  on  the  28th  of  September,  1883,  it 
was  opened  by  the  viceroy.  Earl  Spencer,  as  far  as  Bush- 
mills. This  winter  of  1886-7  it  will  be  opened  to  the 
Giant's  Causeway — that  is,  to  the  hotel  grounds,  a  distance 
of  eight  miles.  One  of  the  most  energetic  of  its  projectors 
has  passed  away  without  seeing  its  completion :  Sir  Will- 
iam  Siemens   died  almost   immediately   after  the   day  of 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  99 

opening,  when  was  gathered  together,  besides  many  scien- 
tific men,  a  host  of  friends ;  whose  sympathy — and  money, 
which  ahnost  entirely  came  from  a  distance — had  been 
given  from  the  first. 

The  tramway  was  constructed  entirely  by  local  work-- 
men;  which  was  one  of  the  important  ends  desired  to 
be  accomplished.  Not  without  difficulty,  for  the  typical 
Irishman,  at  least  in  his  own  country,  has  to  be  taught  to 
work.  He  will  stand,  spade  in  hand,  for  a  certain  number 
of  hours,  then  throw  it  dowTi,  and  consider  that  he  has 
given  his  employer  a  fair  day's  work  for  a  fair  day's  wages. 
The  rule  of  what  we  call  in  England  piece-work — that  is, 
payment  for  the  amount  of  work  done,  not  the  time  it  takes 
to  do  it — ^is  to  him  almost  unknown.  The  gangers  on  this 
railway  had  not  only  to  tell  their  men  what  to  do,  but  to 
show  them  how  to  do  it,  and  see  that  they  did  it,  for  most 
of  them  were  mere  agricultural  laborers  of  the  most  igno- 
rant kind. 

Notable  exceptions,  however,  there  were,  when  the  in- 
grained quickness  of  the  Irish  brain — so  valuable,  if  only 
it  is  united  to  perseverance — showed  itself  here  and  there, 
conquering  every  difficulty.  The  present  electrician,  who 
overlooks  the  dynamos,  was  the  engineer's  coachman,  who 
had  no  previous  knowledge  of  electricity  whatever,  and  the 
man  who  attends  to  the  tiu'bines  and  generators  was  a  farm 
laborer,  taken  on  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  when  the  tramway 
was  begun,  and  working  his  way  up  to  his  present  posi- 
tion—  a  very  important  one.  He  has  to  remain  at  the 
*'  generating  station,"  at  Bushmills,  and  regulate  the  water 


100  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

that  drives  the  enormous  electric  dynamos,  one  of  which 
weighs  five  tons,  and  has  had  seven  miles  of  copper  wire 
used  in  its  construction.  Yet  the  machinery  is  so  dehcate 
that  the  indicators  on  the  wall  tell  him  the  precise  mo- 
ment when  a  train  leaves  Portrush;  the  amount  of  elec- 
tricity which  is  being  used  enabling  him  to  calculate  to 
a  nicety  the  weight  and  speed  of  the  cars,  so  that  he  can 
supply  the  turbines  with  more  or  less  water  to  meet  the 
strain  required  on  any  point  of  the  journey. 

The  intelhgent  conscientiousness  of  this  young  man, 
upon  whom  so  much  depends,  contrasts  pleasantly  with 
the  narrow-minded  ignorance  of  others,  chiefly  carters  and 
car-drivers,  who  often  wantonly  injure  the  railway,  from 
a  fooHsh  notion  that  it  is  injuring  them.  Anything  like 
progress  is  difficult  to  be  comprehended  by  an  uneducated 
race;  and  the  apparent  simplicity  of  the  hues  of  railway 
— unprotected,  except  by  a  low  hand-rail,  and  a  warning 
"  not  to  touch" — roused  the  dangerous  curiosity  of  passers- 
by.  Many  comical  'stories  are  told — of  an  old  woman  who 
sat  down,  basket  and  all,  upon  the  hand-rail,  and  shpped 
backwards  into  a  low  quarry  behind ;  and  a  horse,  which 
having  strayed  and  fallen  across  the  rails,  when  hfted 
up  by  the  tail,  gave  out  shocks  of  electricity  through  his 
whole  body  to  such  an  extent  that  his  rescuers  took  to 
their  heels  and  ran  away. 

But  though  it  is  good  to  impress  upon  the  ignorant 
country  folk  not  to  meddle  with  the  mysterious  rail- 
way, there  is  practically  little  or  no  danger  in  it,  even  ex- 
posed as  it  is.     The  power  required  to  propel  two  or  three 


THE  GIANTS   CAUSEWAY.  101 

cars,  with  fifty  or  sixty  passengers,  absorbs  spjJA^cii  of  ^jf 
electric  current  as  to  render  it  harmless  t*»  *chaiicp:^oueh^; 
and  when  little  work  has  to  be  done  the  tension  is  kepV 
so  low  that  only  a  very  shght  shock  could  be  felt.     Some- 
times  people   are    seen    amusing    themselves   by   holding 
hands  in  a  ring,  to  "see  what  will  happen"  —  but,  as  no 
harm  ever  has  happened,  we  may  safely  hope  none  ever 
will. 

These  facts,  gathered  from  an  entirely  reUable  source, 
we  learned  afterwards,  but  this  forenoon  all  we  noticed 
was  the  single  hne  of  rails,  guarded  by  a  low  hand-rail 
which  ran  alongside  of  the  main  road  where  we  were  driv- 
ing. We  stopped,  as  the  cars  stop,  at  the  httle  wicket  gate 
leading  to  Dunluce  Castle. 

This  many-pinnacled  sea-fortress  is  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  ruins  I  ever  saw.  It  is  built  on  a  rock  Hke 
Dunseverick,  but  is  not  near  so  ancient ;  the  earliest  men- 
tion of  it  being  in  the  time  of  the  Tudors,  when  it  was 
taken  from  the  native  McQuillans  by  the  Scottish  McDon- 
nells. The  story  runs  that  a  young  McDonnell  came  over 
to  help  McQuillan  in  his  wars  with  the  savage  tribes  round 
him ;  spent  a  winter  at  Dunluce,  and  at  the  end  of  it  ran 
away  with  his  host's  daughter,  married  her,  and  based 
upon  that  marriage  a  claim  to  the  castle  and  all  the  land. 
Since  then  the  McQuillans  have  partially  died  out,  though 
the  name  is  not  quite  extinct,  but  the  McDonnells  still 
populate  the  whole  countiy-side. 

However,  the  fact  with  which  some  of  our  party  con- 
soled ourselves,  that  probably  half  of  these  respected  ances- 


102  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

lt>i*s  whm  "^laiiged,  and  the  other  half  ought  to  have  been, 
i3i<i'bxjt"pretei)t  us  from  enjoying  the  soft  sunshine  which 
bathed  every  nook  or  corner  of  the  old  castle,  which  had 
seen  so  much  bloodshed  in  it  or  near  it. 

It  is  in  two  distinct  parts,  the  remains  of  the  stables 
and  servants'  offices  being  on  the  mainland,  while  the  cas- 
tle itself  is  on  an  isolated  rock,  crossed  by  a  grass-edged 
footbridge  no  wider  than  a  plank.  Many  rooms  are  still 
distinguishable,  among  the  rest  the  Banshee's  Chamber, 
which  has  the  pecuharity  of  being  always  clean,  some 
curious  current  of  air  sweeping  every  particle  of  dust 
from  the  floor.  The  Banshee,  usually  a  female  ancestress 
of  the  family,  was  in  this  case  the  daughter  of  a  cruel 
father  who  imprisoned  her  in  this  chamber;  trying  to 
escape  thence  by  means  of  a  rope-ladder,  she  and  her  lover 
both  were  drowned.  So,  of  stormy  nights  she  is  still  heard, 
weeping  and  wailing  in  this  tiny  room. 

Nothing,  I  think,  strikes  one  more  in  examining  old 
castles  than  the  miserable  smallness  of  the  domestic  apart- 
ments in  which  our  forefathers  passed  their  time.  The 
banqueting-rooms  wbre  grand,  the  kitchens  enormous,  but 
the  family  must  have  lived  and  slept  anyhow  and  any- 
where. 

The  clever  mediaeval  workmen  who  built  these  walls, 
fitted  them  so  ingeniously  to  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff  that 
they  look  like  a  continuation  of  the  rock  itseK,  especially 
near  the  Tinker's  Corner  —  which  is  shown  as  the  spot 
where  one  stormy  Christmas  night  a  travelling  tinker  made 
his  bed,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  the  servants  of  the  castle. 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  105 

However,  before  morning,  a  sudden  hurricane  blew  the 
kitchen  wall,  and  eleven  people  with  it,  right  into  the  sea 
below — the  poor  tinker  alone  escaping. 

But  one  might  find — or  make — endless  legends  about 
Dunluce ;  which  is  said  to  have  been  inhabited  as  late  as 
the  year  1750.  Now  it  Ues  desolate,  except  during  the 
brief  hour  or  two  when  Belfast  people  make  "  a  day  out " 
and  roam  about  it — or  stray  tourists  like  ourselves  go  peer- 
ing in  and  out,  and  gazing  from  the  windowless  windows, 
as  the  Banshee  lady,  or  more  determined  McDonnell 
maiden,  must  have  done,  in  the  days  when  women  were 
mere  appendages  to  men,  as  daughters,  sisters,  wives  to 
fathers,  brothers,  and  husbands,  to  be  fought  for,  or  bar- 
gained for,  as  occasion  served. 

My  three  girls,  with  their  hearts  and  their  hves  in  their 
own  hands,  free  and  merry,  busy  and  content,  were  in  some 
things  a  happy  contrast  to  the  fair  damsels  of  former  days. 
They  wandered  about  as  much  as  they  wished;  then  we 
forsook  the  ancient  for  the  modern,  and  devoted  ourselves 
to  the  examination  of  the  great  mystery  of  the  future — 
electricity. 

The  salmon -leap  on  the  river  Bush  is  an  extremely 
pretty  waterfall  which  science  has  converted  into  most 
satisfactory  ugliness  by  means  of  certain  extraordinary  ma- 
chines called  ''  turbines "  —  the  use  of  which  my  readers, 
I  hope,  know  or  can  find  out,  for  I  dare  not  attempt  to 
explain.  Close  by  is  a  deafening  engine  -  room,  which  the 
resident  engineer,  Mr.  Traill,  regarded  with  the  utmost 
tenderness,  as  he  did  eveiy  portion  of  his  work.     To  his 


106  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

enthusiastic  energy,  combined  with  perseverance,  the  elec- 
tric railway  owes  nearly  all  its  success. 

When  we  arrived,  he  and  two  of  his  men  were  digging 
at  a  small  hole  close  above  the  waterfall. 

"  We've  found  it !"  he  said  (something  had  gone  wrong, 
and  the  cars  yesterday  had  been  obliged  to  be  drawn  by  the 
tramway-engine,  kept  permanently  for  the  goods  traffic). 
"  I  have  traced  it  all  the  way  from  Portrush,  and  have  just 
come  upon  the  flaw.  We  shall  put  it  right  and  be  in  work- 
ing order  to-morrow." 

Which  seemed  to  us  a  wonderful  thing,  until  we  remem- 
bered hearing  how,  soon  after  the  laying  of  the  first  Atlan- 
tic telegraph,  a  similar  flaw  was  discovered  and  traced  for 
thousands  of  miles  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  These  secrets 
of  Nature,  discoverable  to  science,  always  strike  the  unin- 
itiated mind  with  a  sense  of  the  marvellous,  which  appeals 
strongly  to  the  imagination.  Little  as  we  understood  of  its 
working,  we  could  not  but  feel  the  advantage  the  electric 
railway  was  hkely  to  be  in  this  district,  if  the  people  have 
sense  to  accept  the  advance  of  civihzation,  of  which  it  is  a 
token,  and  use  the  resources  of  the  country,  which  have  so 
long  lain  dormant.  That  this  was  not  always  so  is  e\i- 
dent  from  a  discovery  made  more  than  a  century  ago  by 
two  men  "  pushing  an  adit,"  as  it  is  called,  in  the  coal-fields 
of  Ballycastle.  They  came  upon  an  ancient  mine,  and  for 
more  than  twelve  hours  wandered  among  a  labyrinth  of 
passages — thirty -six  distinct  chambers,  fashioned  with  a 
skill  equal  to  that  of  the  present  day.  They  also  found 
baskets,  mining  instruments,  and  other  relics  of  workers 


THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY.  107 

whose  labor  must  have  ended,  perhaps,  a  thousand  years 
ago — for  there  is  no  record  whatever,  either  in  history  or 
tradition,  of  this  mysterious  mine. 

Thus  the  tide  of  civihzation  sweeps  backward  and  for- 
ward, advancing  and  retiring,  over  the  whole  world;  and 
the  utmost  we  petty  men  can  do  is  to  take  it  at  the  turn, 
and  make  the  best  use  of  it. 

We  took  our  last  walk  along  the  beaaitiful  cliff,  and 
spent  our  last  evening  in  the  pleasant  drawing-room, 
thinking  how  delightful  would  be  a  Christmas  week  at  the 
Causeway  Hotel,  with  the  wind  blowing  and  the  waves 
roaring — almost  as  good  as  being  at  sea,  yet  with  a  safe 
footing  on  terra  firma.  Those  seven  windows  looking  on 
Blackrock  Strand,  Dunluce  Castle,  Ramore  Head,  with  the 
Donegal  Mountains  behind,  would  furnish  a  landscape  un- 
surpassable in  the  three  kingdoms. 

Also — which  is  not  to  be  despised,  amid  all  the  outside 
beauty — to  be  thoroughly  comfortable  within  doors,  well- 
warmed,  well-housed,  well-fed,  well-hghted  (with  the  elec- 
tric light,  which  is  to  be  bi'ought  up  from  the  railway  this 
winter),  might  attract  those  who  do  not  care  f©r  higher 
things.  Lovers  of  the  grand  and  beautiful,  artists  and 
archaeologists,  will  go  through  any  hardships  to  gain  their 
delights;  but  even  lovers  of  creature  comforts  might  do 
worse  than  spend  a  few — or  a  good  many — dehghtful  days 
at  the  Giant's  Causeway. 

Note. — On  repeating  this  wish  to  "one  who  knows" — 
being  a  resident  close  by — he  smiled  grimly.     "  Well,  it's  a 


108  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

matter  of  taste.  We  have  a  hurricane  about  once  a  fort- 
night; our  skyhghts  are  occasionally  smashed,  the  hotel 
is  entirely  dismantled  from  October  to  April,  and  the 
seven  windows  you  couldn't  well  look  out  of;  they  have 
to  be  boarded  up,  or  they  would  be  blown  in,"  So  I  am 
obliged  to  recant,  and  must  not  advise  anybody  to  winter 
at  the  Griant's  Causeway. 


PART  IV. 

LONDONDERRY. 

STEAM  after  all,  and  not  electricity,  took  us  to  Portnish. 
The  flaw,  discovered  with  such  ingenuity  and  mended 
next  day,  was,  alas !  not  mended  till  seven  p.m — and  we  had 
to  depart  at  five.  So  we  started — by  the  locomotive  al- 
ways kept  in  readiness  for  such  emergencies,  which,  how- 
ever, seldom  happen.  The  worst  that  can  happen  is  that 
the  electric  current  fails,  and  the  train  stops.  No  coUisions, 
explosions,  and  other  disasters,  that  most  railway  lines  are 
exposed  to,  are  possible  on  this  line.  Whether  its  motive 
power  would  be  available  for  greater  distances,  and  at  the 
speed  which  modem  travellers  require,  is  for  future  engi- 
neers to  discover  and  determine. 

But  of  the  beauty,  safety,  and  convenience  of  this  eight- 
mile  electric  railway,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Caiiied  en- 
tirely along  the  common  main  road,  it  skirts  the  sea  so 
closely  that  you  can  look  out  of  the  carriage  windows  and 
see  below  you  the  waves  dashing  among  the  rocks,  chiefly 
of  black  basalt,  except  the  White  Rocks,  which  are  of 
dazzUng  limestone.     Everywhere  they  take  the  strangest 


110  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

forms ;  are  beaten  into  caves  and  archways,  through  which 
the  ever -restless  waters  come  pouring  and  boihng;  while 
here  and  there  are  tiny  bays,  bordered  by  a  few  yards  of 
smooth  sand,  and  sheltered  overhead  by  dizzy  chffs,  where 
the  steadiest  head  and  the  surest  foot  would  hardly  venture 
to  chmb. 

A  last  glance  at  Dunluce,  with  its  many-peaked  ruins 
clear  against  the  afternoon  sky — a  restless  jumping  up  and 
down  every  minute  to  see  some  bit  of  coast,  each  more 
beautiful  than  the  last  —  and  we  found  ourselves  back  in 
civilization  ^  for  the  electric  cars  run  right  through  the 
principal  street  of  Portrush  to  the  railway  station  which 
connects  that  town  with  Belfast,  Coleraine,  Londonderry, 
and  southern  Ireland. 

And  here  I  wish  to  say  a  word  or  two,  "  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger,"  about  Irish  railways,  as  they  strike  an  acci- 
dental traveller  who  is  neither  a  landowner,  a  railway  direc- 
tor, a  government  official,  nor  a  political  demagogue,  but, 
as  I  have  said — only  a  woman. 

The  last  generation  set  up  its  Conservative  back  against 
all  railways,  as  being  sure  to  spoil  the  look  of  the  country, 
to  interfere  with  its  local  trade  and  local  rights — and  plant 
Demos,  with  all  his  unpleasant  belongings,  under  the  very 
nose  of  Aristos.  The  present  generation  is  wiser.  It  has 
discovered  that  after  a  railway  is  once  made.  Nature  re- 
coups herself  for  any  temporary  destruction  with  marvel- 
lous rapidity.  She  clothes  blasted  rocks  with  ferns,  turns 
ugly  embankments  into  grassy  slopes,  and  plants  there,  in 
a  year  or  two,  mile-long  beds  of  primroses  and  cowslips. 


L  OND  ONDERE  Y.  Ill 

Between  station  and  station,  a  line  of  railway  leaves  the 
country  nearly  as  lonely  and  beautiful  as  it  found  it — except 
for  the  occasional  apparition  of  that  long  black  serpent 
with  its  two  fiery  eyes,  and  its  trail  of  white  steam  and 
black  smoke,  winding  through  a  wide  champaign,  or  dart- 
ing in  and  out  of  cuttings  and  tunnels,  hke  a  thing  ahve. 

No  doubt  the  locomotive  has  been  a  wonderful  engine 
of  civihzation.  Even  in  regions  where  its  entrance  appears 
most  cruel — such  as  the  English  lakes  and  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland— it  has  done  more  good  than  harm.  But  in 
Ireland  it  seems  to  do  more  harm  than  good;  being  so 
mismanaged  and  misused  that  one  longs  to  go  back  to  the 
common  road  and  outside  car. 

I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  of  all  railways  I  ever 
travelled  by,  in  England,  Scotland,  France,  Switzerland, 
Italy,  the  Irish  railways  are  the  very  worst.  People  give 
as  a  reason  for  this  that  the  rival  companies  are  always 
squabbhng,  and  seem  to  take  pleasure  in  making  their 
train-service  not  fit  in,  so  that  at  important  junctions  one 
train  often  departs  just  three  minutes  before  another 
arrives — a  system  of  "  cutting  off  your  nose  to  spite  your 
face "  which  is,  alas !  only  too  common  in  Ireland.  Also, 
the  great  poverty  of  the  countiy  is  made  to  account  for 
the  fact  that  the  carriages  are  often  at  the  lowest  ebb  of 
shabbiness  and  even  dangerous  decay;  the  officials  are 
underpaid,  and  therefore  incompetent  and  few.  As  for 
the  railway  stations — I  never  entei'ed  a  single  one,  in  large 
towns,  small  towns,  or  countiy  places,  that  was  not,  to 
EngUsh  notions  of  cleanhness,  a  perfect  pigsty!    Civility 


112  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

was  never  lacking — never  is  in  Ireland ;  for  instance,  once 
at  an  important  junction,  where  I  had  to  wait  two  hours  and 
could  not  even  find  a  decent  bench  to  sit  down  upon,  a 
sympathetic  porter  pohtely  put  me  into  an  empty  first- 
class  carriage  that  was  shunted  aside  till  wanted.  But  as 
for  punctuahty,  order,  and  that  commonest  decent  tidiness 
of  platforms,  booking-offices,  and  waiting-rooms  —  which 
would  only  cost  a  few  shilhngs  weekly  in  brushes  and 
brooms,  soap  and  water — these  things  are  absolutely  un- 
attainable. 

There  may  be  exceptions,  but,  as  a  rule,  between  the 
want  of  money  and  the  reckless  expenditure  of  it  —  in- 
herent laziness  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  the  fatal 
national  pecuharity  of  fighting  over  a  grievance  instead  of 
joining  hand -in  hand  to  remedy  it  —  the  Irish  railway 
system  is  apparently  rotten  to  the  core.  If  government, 
as  I  heard  suggested,  would  take  the  whole  network  of 
fines  into  its  own  hands,  and  work  them  upon  a  system  of 
unity  instead  of  opposition,  it  would  greatly  benefit  the 
shareholders,  the  travellers,  and  the  country  at  large.  At 
present,  this  most  important  element  in  the  prosperity  of 
any  land — its  means  of  pubhc  locomotion — ^is  fike  a  body 
without  a  head,  a  household  without  a  master,  and  noth- 
ing but  strong,  firm,  conscientious  rule,  that  righteous 
authority  which  only  the  unrighteous  need  fear,  will  ever 
put  things  right. 

Having  said  thus  much  —  individuahzing  nothing  and 
nobody,  but  with  the  earnest  hope  that  it  may  "  meet  the 
eye  "  of  those  whom  it  concerns — I  will  leave  the  subject. 


LONDONDERRY.  113 

Portrush,  of  which  we  saw  only  the  railway  station,  is 
called  "  the  Queen  of  Ulster  watering-places."  It  boasts  a 
grand  hotel,  with  many  others  less  grand,  a  fashionable 
promenade  on  Ramore  Head,  and  many  other  dehghts 
which  we  did  not  care  for,  though  doubtless  we  should 
have  found  some  that  we  did.  But  on  the  whole  we 
were  content  to  pass  through  it,  for  the  sake  of  a  Sun- 
day at  Londonderry. 

At  Coleraine  we  found  not  the  traditional  "Kitty  of 
Coleraine,"  but  a  crowd  of  very  unbeautiful  "  Kittys,"  rush- 
ing hither  and  thither  as  female  country  people  usually  do 
at  a  junction  where  there  is  nobody  to  direct  them.  We 
too  felt  somewhat  bewildered,  in  the  great  lack  of  officials 
to  tell  us  where  to  go  and  what  to  do;  but  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  being  safely  shut  into  a  decent  carriage,  as  was 
the  chief  aim  of  the  Barbarous  Scot — I  think  it  is  of  most 
Scotsmen — all  to  ourselves,  with  none  of  our  obnoxious 
fellow-creatures  beside  us. 

So  we  steamed  away  slowly,  very  slowly,  for  the  line 
between  Coleraine  and  Derry,  though  short  in  distance,  is 
long  in  time.  But  it  is  a  rarely  beautiful  hne,  running  a 
little  way  along  the  sea-coast,  then  crossing  a  triangular 
peninsula,  then  skirting  the  edge  of  Lough  .Foyle,  mile 
after  mile;  often  actually  carried  upon  piles  across  the 
water,  which  lay  smooth  in  the  golden  sunset,  with  a  line 
of  low  hills  as  backgi'ound.  A  pretty  spot,  and  mucli 
appreciated,  for  we  passed  clusters  of  "  genteel  villas," 
the  inhabitants  of  which,  late  as  was  the  hour,  were  dis- 
porting themselves  like  mermaids  in  the  lough.     And  as 

8 


114  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

it  narrowed  to  a  mere  river,  we  could  see,  sitting  on  the 
top  of  its  picturesque  hill, 

"  The  little  town  of  Derry,  not  a  league  from  Culmore  Ferry " 

— ^but  not  a  Uttle  town  now ;  for  it  extends  far  beyond  the 
walls,  along  the  valley  and  up  the  slope,  where,  two  hun- 
dred years  ago,  lay  encamped  the  besieging  Franco-Irish 
army  of  King  James  II. 

Londonderry  can  scarcely  be  called  an  unknown  coun- 
try, yet  tourists  so  seldom  visit  it  that  our  landlady  apolo- 
gized kindly  for  any  lack  of  comfort  by  saying  she  was 
only  accustomed  to  "commercial  gentlemen" — whom  we 
observed  "  taking  their  ease  at  their  inn  "  in  the  best  room 
of  the  house.  However,  we  were  too  tired  to  grumble — 
nay,  while  I  rested  the  four  others  valorously  went  out 
into  the  town  and  amused  themselves  with  the  humors  of 
a  Saturday-night  crowd — such  a  contrast  to  the  Mfe  alone 
with  Nature,  which  we  had  led  for  two  weeks. 

Next  morning  we  saw  the  sun  shining  on  the  trees  in 
the  bishop's  garden  —  and  prepared  for  a  pleasant  day.  A 
kindly  missive  from  friends  advised  us  to  go  to  the  Chui'ch 
of  St.  Augustine  on  the  walls,  as  the  cathedral  was  under 
repair.  So  we  went,  lingering  on  the  way  to  look  at  the 
monument  erected  to  the  Rev.  Greorge  Walker,  who  was 
Grovernor  of  Londonderry  during  the  siege,  and  whose  curi- 
ous and  authentic  account  of  it  we  had  bought  in  the  town 
for  the  sum  of  sixpence. 

Derry — or  Londonderry,  as  it  was  called  after  being  re- 
built at  the  expense  of  the  City  of  London,  in  1633 — ^is  one 


L  OND  ON D  ERR  Y.  115 

of  the  prettiest  towns  in  Ireland.  Its  encircling  walls,  and 
four  gateways,  form  the  pleasantest  of  walks,  whence  you 
can  see  the  country  for  miles  and  miles — on  one  side,  smil- 
ing pasture-lands,  and  low  hills;  on  the  other,  the  gUttering 
length  of  Lough  Foyle.  We  stood  a  long  time  by  Walker's 
monument  and  statue,  thinking  of  that  siege  of  Derry, 
which  is  still  such  a  vivid  and  bitter  political  memory  in 
Ulster ;  but  which  ordinary  Enghsh  people  know  so  Uttle 
about  that  a  few  words  concerning  it  may  not  come  amiss. 

In  the  struggle  between  Cathohcs  and  Protestants,  the 
deposed  James  II.  on  the  one  side,  and  Wilham  and  Maiy 
of  Orange  on  the  other,  there  was  no  fiercer  battle-ground 
than  the  province  of  Ulster  and  the  city  of  Londonderry. 
Its  inhabitants — composed  chiefly  of  English  Episcopalians 
and  Scottish  Presbyterians — when  James  and  liis  Franco- 
Irish  army  of  twenty  thousand  men  appeared,  summoning 
them  to  surrender,  preferred  to  fight.  They  drove  away 
from  among  them  all  the  native  Irish,  shut  their  gates,  and 
sustained  for  a  hundred  and  five  days  a  siege  ever  memora- 
ble, both  for  the  courage  of  the  besieged  and  their  cruel 
sufferings.  Between  April  and  August  nine  thousand  of 
them  died — ^more  from  famine  and  sickness  than  from  the 
enemy,  who  sat  all  the  while  on  the  hillside  opposite,  bat- 
tering the  city  at  intervals,  or  trying  by  treachery  to  enter 
there.  In  one  instance  nine  prentice  lads,  *  seeing  the 
French  soldiers  within  sixty  yards  of  the  gate — which  had 
been  opened  for  a  parley — seized  the  keys,  ran  down,  and 
locked  it  only  just  in  time. 

The  miseries  of  the  townpeople  were  great.     Governor 


116  AN-   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

Walker  gives  a  list  of  food,  and  its  price :  "  One  pound  of 
horse-flesh,  Is.  8d.  A  quarter  of  a  dog,  fatned  [sic]  by  eat- 
ing the  Bodies  of  the  slain  Irish,  2s.  6d.  A  Rat,  Is.  A 
Mouse,  sixpence.  And,"  he  adds,  with  terrible  simphcity, 
"we  had  nothing  left  to  eat  unless  we  could  prey  upon 
one  another.  A  certain  Fat  gentleman  conceived  himself  in 
greatest  danger.  Fancying  the  garrison  lookt  at  him  with  a 
greedy  Eye,  he  thought  fit  to  hide  himself  for  three  Days." 
In  this  dire  extremity,  when  the  hving  were  half  dead, 
and  the  dead  had  been  buried  by  hundreds,  under  streets 
and  in  back  yards,  anywhere  where  a  little  earth  could  be 
got  to  coyer  them  —  often  so  httle  that  a  bomb  entering 
would  tear  it  up  again,  and  disclose  all  the  horrors  of 
the  new-made  grave  —  two  ships,  which  they  knew  were 
laden  with  food,  appeared  saihng  up  the  lough  to  reheve 
the  town.  Mrs.  Alexander,  wife  of  the  present  Bishop  of 
Derry,  has  told  the  story  in  a  poem  lately  published — which 
for  beauty  and  power  is  surely  destined  to  become,  hke  her 
"  Burial  of  Moses,"  an  English  classic. 

"  Like  a  falcon  on  her  perch,  our  fair  Cathedral  church 

Above  the  tide-vext  river  looks  eastward  from  the  bay ; 
Dear  namesake  of  St.  Columb !    and  each  morning,  sweet  and  solemn, 
The  bells  through  all  the  tumult  have  called  on  us  to  pray. 

"  Our  leader  speaks  the  prayer,  the  captains  are  all  there ; 

His  dpep  voice  never  falters  though  his  look  be  sad  and  grave. 
On  the  women's  pallid  faces,  and  the  soldiers  in  their  places, 

And  the  stones  above  our  brothers  that  lie  buried  in  the  nave. 

"  They  are  closing  round  us  still  by  the  river ;    on  the  hill 

You  can  see  the  white  pavilions  round  the  standards  of  their  chief. 
But  the  Lord  is  up  in  heaven,  though  the  chances  are  uneven, 

Though  the  boom  is  in  the  river  whence  we  looked  for  our  relief." 


L  OND  ONDERR  Y.  117 

The  "  boom "  was  a  huge  mast,  tied  across  the  river 
with  ropes,  to  hinder  the  food -ships  from  passing  to  the 
water  -  gate.  The  Httle  Moiintjoy,  trying  to  force  it,  was 
met  by  a  rain  of  cannon-balls,  one  of  which  cut  the  rope, 
and  the  concussion,  setting  her  afloat,  for  she  was  nearly 
stranded,  she  passed  safely  over  the  boom. 

"  She  sails  up  to  the  town,  like  a  queen  in  a  white  gown, 
And  golden  arc  her  lilies,  true  gold  are  all  her  men : 
Now  the  Phoenix  follows  after,  I  can  hear  the  women's  laughter, 
And  the  shouting  of  the  soldiers  till  the  echoes  ring  again." 

So  complete  was  the  rescue  that  King  James's  army  melt- 
ed away  in  a  few  days  from  before  the  town.  Deny  was 
saved. 

It  was  strange  to  stand  on  the  walls  hstening  to  the 
peaceful  Sabbath  bells  and  watch  the  good  people  going 
into  church — the  pretty  little  church  which  has  been  built 
on  the  site  of  an  Augustinian  monastery — and  think  of  all 
the  scenes  enacted  there  only  two  centuries  ago.  How  the 
world  has  changed! — except  that  there  still  hes  smoulder- 
ing everywhere  in  northern  Ireland  the  embers  of  that 
fierce  rehgious  hatred,  begun  in  the  time  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, and  continued  down  to  the  present  day. 

But  long  before  then,  in  times  absolutely  without  rec- 
ord, Derry  must  have  been  a  favorite  fighting-gi'ound.  Its 
ffreat  natm'al  advantages,  seated  on  a  hill  at  the  head  of 
the  lough,  and  commanding  such  an  extent  of  country,  by 
water  and  land,  probably  made  it  an  inhabited  settlement 
coeval  with  the  Grainan  Aileach,  or  palace  of  the  ancient 
Irish  kings  in  the  north,  as  Tara  was  in  the  south. 


118  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

This  curious  "  remain,"  with  its  circular  wall  thirteen 
feet  thick,  and  its  massive  entrance-gate,  is  still  to  he  seen 
on  a  hillside  four  miles  from  Londonderry.  Some  anti- 
quaries, judging  from  hoth  traditionary  and  internal  evi- 
dence, date  it  as  far  hack  as  a  thousand  years  hef ore  Christ. 
But,  at  any  rate,  it  is  mentioned  in  the  "Annals  of  the  Four 
Masters"  some  centuries  after  Christ,  as  a  very  ancient 
huilding  plundered  hy  the  Danes,  and  finally  demolished  hy 
Murtagh  O'Brien,  King  of  Munster,  who  ordered  each  of  his 
men  to  hring  a  stone  from  Grainan  Aileach  hack  to  Lim- 
erick. 

Of  this  palace  there  is  still  enough  left  to  distinguish 
the  hne  of  three  earthen  ramparts  and  terraces  of  stones, 
adjusted  to  fit  in  to  one  another  without  cement.  I  can 
only  describe  it  from  hearsay — ^for  I  never  saw  it ;  though 
it  was  the  place  which  of  all  others  I  should  have  hked 
to  see. 

After  church  we,  with  the  help  of  kind  friends,  utihzed 
every  minute,  and  succeeded,  I  think,  in  taking  in  most 
of  the  points  connected  with  that  episode  in  history  of 
which  Derry  seems  most  proud — its  lengthened  siege  and 
almost  miraculous  dehverance. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  the  cathedral,  imder  the  charge 
of  two  of  its  dignitaries,  one  of  whom  was  making  his 
weekly  progress  among  scaffolding  and  workmen's  debris^ 
to  see  how  its  restoration  w^as  advancing.  His  earnest 
enthusiasm  over  it  reminded  us  of  the  old  mediaeval  days 
when  people  spent  their  whole  fives  and  incomes  in  huild- 
ing cathedrals  "  for  the  glory  of  God." 


LONDONDERRY.  119 

Deny  Cathedral  is  not  ancient,  dating  only  from  1622, 
as  recorded  in  a  tablet  on  the  wall. 

"  If  stones  could  speake 
Then  London's  prayse 
Should  sound.     \\Tio 
Built  this  Church  and 
Cittie  from  the  grounde." 

Consequently  it  is  only  a  church,  has  no  cloisters,  no  close, 
as  in  Cathohc  times,  when  the  monastery  and  cathedi'al 
were  often  combined.  King  Charles  I.  presented  to  it  its 
peal  of  bells,  and  dedicated  it  to  St.  Columb  or  Columba, 
who  a  thousand  years  before  had  here  instituted  one  of 
his  bishoprics,  which  held  so  important  a  position  in  the 
early  history  of  Ireland. 

The  British  laity  in  general  are  little  aware  of  the  facts, 
proved  as  far  as  any  ancient  historical  facts  can  be,  that 
at  a  time  when  England  was  sunk  in  Druidic  barbarism, 
or  struggling  madly  with  Saxons,  Danes,  and  Normans,  Ire- 
land was  very  fairly  civihzed,  and  its  Church  was  a  Chris- 
tian Church,  with  a  clear  form  of  ecclesiastical  govennnent 
— bishops,  priests,  abbots.  In  a  very  early  Irish  poem,  a 
saint,  coeval  with  St.  Patrick,  is  thus  referred  to : 

"Not  poor  was  the  family  [«'.  e.^  monastic  family]  of  St. 
Mochta,  of  Louth's  fort.  Three  hundred  priests  and  one 
hundred  bishops  along  with  him,  and  threescore  singing 
elders,  composed  his  royal,  noble  household.  They  ploughed 
not,  they  reaped  not,  they  dried  not  com ;  they  labored  not, 
save  at  learning  only." 

But   St.  Columba  —  or   Cokunbkille  —  Colimiba  of  the 


120  .  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

Church  as  he  was  afterwards  called  —  seems  to  have  had 
other  pursuits  than  learning.  Born  at  Garton  in  Donegal, 
of  royal  blood,  he  was  politician  and  soldier  as  well  as 
priest,  and,  embroihng  himself  with  his  kinsmen,  had  to 
fly  from  Derry,  then  called  Derry  Columbkille.  He  took 
refuge  in  lona,  where  he  built  another  cathedral,  and  in- 
stituted a  new  system  of  ecclesiastical  pohty  among  the 
semi-barbarous  Picts  and  Scots.  Trjadition,  and  the  ar- 
chaeological remains  still  existing  at  Staffa  and  lona,  and 
all  along  these  northern  isles,  show  to  what  an  extent  he 
must  have  both  civihzed  and  Christianized  them.  St.  Co- 
lumba  never  returned  to  Ireland,  but  died  in  his  cathedral 
at  lona,  one  midnight,  in  front  of  the  high-altar,  at  the  ripe 
age  of  seventy- seven.  His  influence,  both  within  and  with- 
out the  Church,  must  have  been  enormous ;  and  his  char- 
ter, strong,  firm,  and  just,  accounts  for  it.  The  form  of 
Church  government  which  he  originated  subsisted  for 
several  centuries  in  Ireland.  One  of  its  remarkable  feat- 
ures was  the  respect  paid  and  the  authority  given  to  women 
— ^for  instance,  the  abbess  St.  Brigid,  or  Bridget,  seems  to 
have  been  a  friend  of  St.  Columba,  consulted  by  him  on 
many  occasions,  and  possessing  almost  equal  influence  with 
himself  in  matters  ecclesiastical. 

Derry  Cathedral  is  too  modern  to  have  any  relics  of 
saints  or  ancient  tombs  —  indeed,  its  history  begins  with 
Puritanism.  The  first  curiosity  we  were  shown  was  a  can- 
non-ball fired  into  the  town,  containing  a  letter,  offering  a 
large  reward  to  whoever  should  open  the  gates  to  King 
James's  army  outside.     But  in  vain.     Apparently,  the  only 


L  OND  ONDERR  Y.  121 

"  Mr.  Feeble-mind "  in  Derry  was  its  bishop,  Ezekiel  Hop- 
kins, who,  after  giving  it  its  communion  plate  and  organ, 
retired  south  for  safety,  and  ended  his  days  as  a  poor  curate 
of  a  London  church.  It  was  for  the  humble  minister  of 
Donoughmore — the  Reverend  George  Walker — to  exchange 
cassock  for  sword,  and  make  himseK  notable  forever  as  the 
Governor  of  Deny  during  its  terrible  siege. 

The  cathedral  is  full  of  reminiscences  of  that  cruel 
time.  We  were  shovni  an  opening,  only  lately  discovered 
by  the  workmen,  leading  by  an  underground  passage  to 
the  sallyport.  And  when,  in  1861,  the  paving  had  to  be 
taken  up,  under  it  was  found  a  dense  mass,  three  feet  deep, 
of  human  bones,  mingled  with  fragments  of  silken  ribbon, 
which  was  distinctly  seen  to  be  of  that  orange  color  that 
for  two  centuries  has  been  in  Ireland  the  fatal  signal — as 
fatal  now  as  ever — of  pohtical  and  rehgious  warfare.  After 
much  careless  desecration,  the  spirit  of  the  townsfolk  was 
at  last  roused ;  and  these  poor  bones  of  the  brave  defenders 
of  Derry  were  reverently  collected  and  rebmied.  That 
none  might  be  lost,  even  the  earth  dug  out  near  them  was 
piled  into  a  mound  outside,  with  an  inscription  that  records 
almost  too  bitterly  the  feehng  of  their  descendants. 

A  wholesome  lesson  upon  this — the  undying  animosity 
between  Protestant  and  Cathohc — was  the  bishop's  sermon, 
which  we  went  to  hear  in  the  town-hall ;  where,  during  the 
restoration  of  the  cathedral,  service  is  conducted.  His 
text — "Now  the  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  love,  joy,  and  peace" 
— was  expounded  with  a  power  and  earnestness  worthy  of 
one  of  the  best  preachers  in  the  Irish  Church,  as  he  is  held 


122  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

to  be.  Ornate — perhaps  a  little  too  ornate,  but  the  Celtic 
taste  enjoys  this — it  had  yet  a  sound  substance  of  truth 
underneath  its  ornamentation.  The  bishop's  fine  presence 
and  dignified  dehvery  added  to  the  charm  of  his  words. 
Instinctively  one  thought  of  St.  Columba ;  and  wished  that 
the  Irish  Church  of  that  time — Catholic,  not  Eoman  Cath- 
olic ;  nor  Protestant,  for  there  were  as  yet  no  corruptions 
to  protest  against  —  could  have  remained  as  it  then  was, 
one  and  indivisible ;  sanctifying  and  dignifying  the  secular 
power  as  only  a  Church  can  which  has  in  it  the  best  of  the 
land. 

It  may  seem  a  strange  thing  to  say  of  a  faith  whose  first 
promulgators  were  a  handful  of  fishermen — but  I  beheve 
no  country  ever  prospers  in  which  the  ministers  of  rehgion 
are  principally  drawn  from  its  lower  classes.  The  great 
misfortune  of  Ireland  is  that  many  of  its  priests — Cathohc 
priests  I  mean — are  taken  from  the  peasantry,  imperfectly 
educated,  and  consequently  narrow-minded.  This  should 
not  be  in  any  Church.  Let  us  give  to  God  the  best  we 
have :  churches  that  will  elevate  men's  minds  to  him 
"  who  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with  hands ;"  and 
clergy,  who  are  men  of  education  and  refinement,  not  only 
Christians  but  gentlemen — followers  of  Him  whom  an  old 
poet,  Dekker,  aptly  calls, 

"  The  first  true  gentleman  that  ever  breathed." 

August  30th. — ^We  left  Londonderry  with  regret — as,  in- 
deed, we  had  hitherto  left  every  place — but  for  the  inevi- 
table necessity  of  pushing  on. 


THE   GAP   OF   BARNES. 
{From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Nokl  Paton.) 


And  here  I  must  pause  to  account  for  the  fact  that  this 
town,  where  we  found  so  much  to  interest  us,  goes  unilhis- 
trated ;  and  that  of  the  illustrated  places,  Ratlmiullan,  the 
Gap  of  Barnes,  Muckish  from  Ards,  and  Horn  Head,  I  can 
give  no  description  at  all.  Author  and  artist,  who  had 
hitherto  followed  on  one  another's  track,  here  found  their 
ways  divide.  For  pictorial  purposes  he  avoided  towns, 
and  chose  the  beautiful  country  about  Lough  Swilly,  wliich 
furnished  endless  subjects  for  the  pencil.  But,  alas !  there, 
as  in  many  other  parts  of  Ireland, 

"  All  save  the  spirit  of  man  is  divine " 


124:  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

— the  spirit  which  urges  man  to  do  his  best  to  civihze  him- 
self and  rise  from  the  cave-dwelhngs  of  the  original  savage 
into  the  decent  ways,  the  "  sweetness  and  hght,"  of  an  in- 
telhgent  community. 

"  You  cannot  come  here,"  wrote  our  artist ;  though  he 
knew  we  did  not  mind  roughing  it,  in  moderation,  and  that 
our  wants  were  of  the  simplest  kind.  "  There  is  not  an  inn 
anywhere  that  a  lady  could  stop  at." 

So  all  that  splendid  coast,  made  easily  visitable  fi"om 
Derry  by  the  little  Buncrana  railway,  must  remain  un- 
chronicled  by  me.  How  beautiful  it  is,  was  told  us  this 
morning  by  a  gentleman  whom  we  met  accidentally  in  the 
coffee-room  —  an  English  landowner  and  M.P.,  travelhng 
through  all  the  worst  parts  of  Ireland,  in  order  to  see  with 
his  own  eyes  the  state  of  the  country.  Unhke  many  a 
politician,  he  felt  it  due  to  his  constituents  not  to  attempt 
to  speak  about  what  he  did  not  understand.  So  he  had 
spent  his  autumn  holiday  in  wandering  through  the  poor- 
est, wildest,  or  most  "  congested "  districts.  It  seems 
strange  that  in  such  a  depopulated  land  there  should  be 
any  congestion  of  population,  yet  so  it  is.  In  many  places 
throughout  Ireland  the  land  cannot  possibly  sustain  its 
children,  and  emigration  —  or  eviction  —  becomes  not  a. 
cruelty,  but  a  necessity.  If  only  the  people  could  be  plant- 
ed out  —  like  lettuce  —  over  a  larger  surface  in  their  own 
country,  or  given  some  industries  that  would  maintain 
them  independently  of  agriculture— often  the  hopeless  till- 
age of  an  all  but  barren  soil. 

"Yet,  one  thing  I  am   very  clear  of,"  said  the  M.P. 


L  OND  ON D  ERR  Y.  125 

(after  giving  numerous  details  to  prove  his  opinion) — "  that 
this  is  a  country  of  enormous  possibiUties  most  lament- 
ably wasted.  Who  wastes  them,  or  whose  fault  it  is  and 
ha^  been  that  they  are  wasted,  I  will  not  undertake  to 
say." 

Nor  will  I,  though  I  cordially  agi'eed  with  the  kindly- 
hearted  Enghshman,  who  had  come  to  Ireland  without  a 
single  Saxon  prejudice,  and  was  leaving  it  without  an  atom 
of  Saxon  animosity  in  his  heart.  Everywhere,  he  de- 
clared, he  had  been  received,  by  the  poorest  and  most 
wretched  of  the  people,  with  civility  and  kindhness;  and 
everywhere  he  had  been  struck  not  only  by  the  miseiy,  but 
by  the  dull  indifference  to  it,  and  the  want  of  any  effort  to 
avoid  it. 

"  For  instance,"  he  said,  "  yesterday  was  as  pleasant  and 
restful  a  Sunday  as  ever  I  spent  in  my  Ufe.  I  put  a  book 
in  my  pocket,  took  the  httle  railway  to  Fahan  and  Bun- 
crana,  and  passed  the  day  in  wandering  for  miles  along  the 
grand  sea-shore.  The  place  I  stopped  to  dine  at  looked 
well  enough  outside,  and  must  originally  have  been  a  veiy 
good  house ;  but  the  Atlantic  storms  had  beaten  it  almost 
to  pieces,  and  no  one  had  ever  attempted  to  repair  it. 
Your  Irishman  can  do  wonderful  things  —  why  is  it  that 
he  never  can  keep  on  doing  them '?" 

Why,  indeed  f  Perhaps,  I  might  have  said,  because  the 
volatile  Celtic  nature  needs  the  Saxon  phlegm  to  give  it  sta- 
bility— even  as  absolutely  pure  gold  can  never  be  worked 
without  a  certain  alloy  of  less  valuable  ore  to  harden  it. 
But   this  would  hardly  have  been  civil  to  the  excellent 


126  AN  UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

Briton,  who  had  come  to  Ireland  with  snch  good  in- 
tentions. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  dilating  on  the  beauty  of  the 
whole  of  this  quadrangular  peninsula,  bounded  on  two 
sides  by  the  Atlantic,  and  on  the  two  others  by  Lough 
Swilly  and  Lough  Foyle,  "  if  anywhere  near  the  coast  an 
enterprising  speculator,  English  or  Scottish,  would  start  a 
good  hotel,  built  ever  so  plainly,  and  fitted  up  ever  so  sim- 
ply, provided  it  were  comfortable — this  would  benefit  the 
country  more  than  all  the  harangues  about  '  driving  the 
stranger  out  of  the  land.'  Far  wiser  to  bring  him  in,  and 
his  money  with  him.  The  way  to  civilize  a  country  is  to 
open  it  up  to  other  countries.  Neither  families  nor  races 
are  the  better  for  isolation." 

The  honest  M.P.  was  right.  Surely,  the  cry  of  "Ire- 
land for  the  Irish"  is  as  unpatriotic  as  it  is  short-sighted 
and  unwise.  Only  by  immigration  from  other  countries  can 
baneful  national  characteristics  be  worn  away,  and  national 
prejudices  be  smoothed  down.  A  generous  "give  and  take," 
I  agreed,  is  invaluable  for  the  civilization  of  the  world. 

"Then,"  he  said,  "instead  of  Ireland  hating  England 
and  England  bearing  on  her  contemptuous  face  the  warn- 
ing '  No  Irish  need  apply,'  you  would  mix  up  the  two 
countries  as  much  as  possible,  in  things  commercial,  poht- 
ical,  intellectual,  and  social  f 

"  Certainly — especially  the  latter.  I  think,  as  was  dis- 
covered often  in  ancient  times,  Celt,  Scot,  and  Saxon  might 
do  a  much  better  thing  than  exterminate  their  enemies — 
marry  them !" 


L  OND  ONDERR  Y.  127 

At  which  truly  feminine  solution  of  the  Irish  difficulty 
we  all  laughed — and  parted. 

Between  DeiTy  and  Letterkenny  is  an  innocent  little 
railway,  which  seems  to  run  chiefly  for  its  own  amusement, 
independent  of  passengers  and  time-tables.  We  had  no 
difficulty  in  securing  the  carriage  "  all  to  ourselves,"  which 
the  Barbarous  Scot — who,  like  most  of  his  countrymen,  is 
not  gregarious,  and  presupposes  every  unknown  fellow- 
passenger  to  be  a  foe  rather  than  a  friend— considers  a  sine 
qua  non  in  railway  travelling.  So,  congratulating  ourselves 
on  the  absence  of  our  fellow-creatures  —  alas!  there  were 
only  too  few  to  be  got  rid  of  in  this  thinly-populated  land — 
we  merrily  began  our  day's  journey,  wondering  much  how 
it  would  end.  For  Letterkenny  is  the  last  point  of  steam 
communication  in  this  desolate  County  Donegal.  Hence- 
forward we  must  trust  to  mail-cars — and  any  one  who  ever 
saw  an  Irish  mail-car  wiU  understand  what  that  means — or 
to  private  cars,  which  are  not  much  better. 

Still,  "where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way."  We  had 
begun  our  journey,  and  meant  to  go  through  with  it.  Oui* 
artist's  kindly  warning  had  not  included  Letterkenny,  and 
if  it  had,  we  were  merely  passing  through.  But  we  took 
the  precaution  of  securing  a  carriage,  and  a  dinner,  at  the 
one  inn  which,  we  were  told,  the  little  town  possessed,  kept 
by  "  the  two  Miss  Hegartys." 

During  a  long  and  not  over-interesting  journey,  with 
])leasant  glimpses  of  the  shining  lough  on  one  side,  and  on 
the  other  very  unpleasant  wafts  of  flax-steeping — I  think 
half-decayed  flax  has  the  most  abominable  smell  to  an  Eng- 


128  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

lish  nose — we  amused  ourselves  in  speculating  as  to  what 
the  Miss  Hegartys  would  be  like,  what  sort  of  dinner  they 
would  provide  for  us,  how  quickly  we  could  eat  it  and 
start  off  again. 

"  Half  an  hour,"  said  the  masculine  ruler  of  our  travel- 
hng  destinies — "half  an  hour  will  be  quite  long  enough  to 
stay  at  Letterkenny." 

In  which  we  all  agreed — and  therein*  made  a  mistake, 
one  of  the  not  many  mistakes  of  our  tour. 

Arrived  at  the  terminus,  after  having  stopped  at  every 
station  since  Londonderry  while  the  officials  of  our  train 
held  interesting — and  lengthy — colloquies  with  the  country- 
folk, and  then,  as  if  taking  a  sudden  thought,  started  us  off 
again — we  found  waiting,  not  the  aboriginal  outside  car,  but 
a  comfortable  wagonet,  which  set  us  down  in  front  of  an 
inn,  where,  instead  of  a  half -hour,  we  could  well  have  stayed 
for  a  week.  Dainty  bedrooms,  scrupulously  clean,  and 
actually  ptetty,  with  their  neat  lace  and  mushn  furnishing ; 
a  sitting-room  that  had  even  a  touch  of  the  artistic  about 
it ;  a  dinner  "  fit  for  a  king,"  and  served  punctually  to  the 
minute,  and  a  Miss  Hegarty — one  of  the  two,  who  was  the 
very  opposite  of  the  typical  Irish  landlady— we  got  all  this 
for  charges  so  small  that  they  would  be  impossible  except 
in  a  district  where,  as  I  had  heard,  you  can  get  fowls  for 
a  shilling  a  piece,  and  the  best  of  butter  for  ninepence  a 
pound. 

Yes,  it  was  a  mistake.  We  might,  with  the  utmost  com- 
fort, have  settled  ourselves  down  here,  and  made  excur- 
sions to  Rathmullen,  Rathmelton,  Horn   Head,  Buncrana, 


nay,  even  have  gone  back  and  ex- 
amined Grainan  Aileach.  But  in 
travelling,  as  in  life,  one  discovers 
so  many  things  done  or  left  un- 
done—  afterwards!  The  only 
right  thing  is  not  to  mourn  over 
them,  but  try  to  amend  them — next  time. 

We  could  not  amend  this  error,  for  our  rooms  were 
taken  at  Gweedore — we  must  go  on.  So  we  ate  our  din- 
ner, looked  out  from  our  window  at  what  we  heard  was  the 
Roman  Catholic  Bishop  of  Raphoe,  said  to  be  a  cultivated 
and  highly  intelligent  man;  then  watched  the  horses  put 


130  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

to  the  wagonet,  and  our  luggage  tied  upon  a  supplementary 
car,  in  the  ingenious  way  that  Irish  cleverness  does  tie  it, 
and  sits  upon  the  top  of  it,  as  we  saw  an  old  man  sitting, 
as  lightly  as  if  he  had  been  a  large  blue-bottle  fly.  He 
drove  away,  with  all  our  impedimenta — we  earnestly  hoping 
not  to  find  some  of  them  lying  .in  the  road ;  and  shortly 
afterwards  we  started  for  our  thirty-mile  drive — thirty  Irish 
miles — across  one  of  the  strangest,  grandest,  and  most  deso- 
late regions  that  can  be  found  in  the  United  —  yes,  and  it 
should  be  united — Kingdom. 

At  first  it  was  a  slow,  steady  climb  up  a  steep  road, 
with  a  wide  stretch  of  cultivated  land  below,  and  in  the 
distance  a  range  of  mountains,  one  of  them  of  rather  pecul- 
iar shape,  long  and  flat — "  Muckish,"  briefly  explained  the 
driver,  and  relapsed  into  silence.  We  thought  to  win  him 
by  noticing  his  horses,  at  the  sight  of  which  any  English 
coachman,  accustomed  to  sleek  steeds  and  trim  harness, 
would  have  stood  aghast. 

•  "  They  will  be  pretty  well  tired  by  the  time  they  reach 
Grweedore,  I  fear!"  (Nobody  liked  to  suggest  that  they 
might  never  reach  it  at  aU.)  "  Are  they  accustomed  to  the 
journey f 

Jehu  nodded. 

"  But,  of  course,  you  will  let  them  rest  the  night  there  f 

An  expressive  gesture  of  distaste,  which  we  did  not 
understand  then — we  did  afterwards.  "  They'll  be  back  at 
Letterkenny  to-morrow  morning." 

There  was  no  more  to  be  got  out  of  him,  so  we  left  him 
to  his  duties,  and  prepared  ourselves  for  one  of  those  drives 


L  OND  ONDERR  Y.  131 

to  which  travellers  in  Donegal  must  get  accustomed,  won- 
dering which  is  most  interminable,  the  length  of  the  road, 
the  patience  of  the  driver,  or  the  strength  and  endurance 
of  these  thin,  wiry,  hungry-looking  horses — Irish  horses, 
that  will  do  forty  miles  as  easily  as  fat  Enghsh  horses  will 
do  fourteen.  Still,  to  pity  them  was  useless;  and  their 
driver  was  very  good  to  them,  urging  them  more  by  voice 
than  whip,  and  letting  them  go  at  a  snail's  pace  whenever 
the  road  required  it. 

He  was  a  dark,  strong-featured,  handsome  fellow,  with 
a  firm-set,  rather  saturnine  face,  not  at  all  like  the  Uvely 
Paddy  of  the  south.  Nor  was  he  in  the  customary  con- 
tented rags :  his  rough  overcoat,  whatever  it  covered, 
looked  decent  and  whole.  He  took  no  notice  of  us  or  of 
our  talking  and  laughter — which  was  considerable,  for  in 
the  bright  sunshine  and  keen  mountain  air  our  spirits  rose 
amazingly — but  sat  on  his  box,  unsympathetic,  silent,  and 
glim. 

"Perhaps  he  is  a  Home-Ruler,"  suggested  the  Violet, 
who  had  all  along  expressed  the  greatest  desire  to  see  that 
awful  specimen  of  an  Irishman,  to  the  Enghsh  mind  some- 
thing equivalent  to  the  mysterious  gentleman  with  horns 
and  a  tail. 

"  He  may  have  been  evicted,"  added  the  Bird,  who  had 
the  very  vaguest  notions  of  what  eviction  meant. 

"Probably  neither,"  said  the  Barbarous  Scot,  who  al- 
ways takes  an  eminently  practical  view  of  things ;  "he  is 
just  minding  his  horses,  which  is  the  best  thing  he  can  do." 

But  I  had  studied  the  human  face  too  many  years  not 


132 


AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 


to  be  struck,  even  touched,  by  this  one.  There  was  in  it  a 
kind  of  set  endurance,  which  was  neither  suUenness  nor 
stupidity.  And  for  a  driver,  an  Irish  driver,  to  go  on  for 
miles  without  a  word,  except  to  his  horses,  was  a  thing 
so  uncommon  that,  as  soon  as  the  rest  of  the  party  de- 
scended and  were  safely  disposed  of  for  a  long  hill,  I  spoke 
to  him. 

He  was  civil,  but  no  more.  All  attempts  to  get  him 
into  conversation  failed.  Still,  I  did  not  despair.  The 
grand  keynote  to  the  Irish  nature  —  will  rulers  ever  find 
it  out,  and  strike  it  ? — is  sympathy. 

Soon,  we  came  upon  a  really  pretty  village,  with  a  mod- 
ern church,  and  an  old  ruin  beside  it. 
"What  is  that?" 

"  Kilmacrenan,"  he  answered,  and  vouchsafed  no  more. 

We  remembered  that 
a  clergyman,  at  break- 
fast  that  morning, 
had  told  us  that  we 
ought  specially  to 
notice  the  place,  be- 
cause a  relation  of 
his  had  lived  there 
many  years,  and 
had  had  the  honor 
of  receiving  in  his 
vicarage  Bishop  Wil- 
berforce,   who    de- 

KILMACRENAN.  "I  J?  J.  ,1 

(From  a  Draivinj  by  F.  Noki.  Paton.)  ClarCd     aiterWarClS 


LONDONDERRY.  133 

that  he  "had  never  been  happier  in  his  Hfe  than  at  Kil- 
macrenan." 

We  should  have  dearly  hked  to  test  this  possibility,  to 
investigate  the  abbey,  and  learn  something  about  it ;  but, 
as  it  was,  we  were  obhged  to  content  ourselves  with  that 
valuable  episcopal  reminiscence,  and  the  sight  of  the  pretty 
httle  vicarage,  where  a  group  of  young  people  were  play- 
ing lawn-tennis,  which  looked  odd  enough  in  this  out-of- 
the-world  nook,  the  last  vestige  of  civiHzation  that  we  came 
upon. 

No  one  who  has  not  seen  them  can  imagine  the  intense 
desolation  of  these  Donegal  moors.  You  drive  miles  and 
miles  without  seeing  a  human  being,  or  a  sign  of  the  habi- 
tation of  one,  nay,  not  even  a  beast  or  a  bird,  wild  or  tame. 
There  are  no  trees  to  rustle,  no  rivulets  to  sing.  Now  and 
then  comes  a  httle  lake,  or  rather  an  accumulation  of  stag- 
nant bog- water;  but  of  the  noise  of  leaves  or  streams,  so 
cheerful  in  sohtary  places,  there  is  nothing — only  silence, 
dead  silence.  On  a  sunshiny  day  this  is  dreaiy,  but  on  a 
gray  or  wet  day  desolate  beyond  conception.  Moorland  and 
bog,  bog  and  moorland,  stretch  on  in  level  succession,  so 
that  you  can  often  trace  the  road  before  you  for  miles; 
while  the  distant  mountains,  with  lesser  hills  between,  are 
continually  changing  theu'  shape,  as  you  change  your  route, 
and  yet  always  distinguishable  —  Muckish,  with  its  long 
"  pig's  back,"  and  Erigal,  conical  and  dazzling  white.  Such 
was  the  region  we  were  passing  through,  varied,  ui  a  sense, 
and  yet  keeping,  mile  after  mile,  a  strangely  solemn  mo- 
notony. 


134  AN-   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

At  last  a  thought  struck  me,  and  I  risked  a  question  of 
our  driver,  whom  the  rest  of  the  party  had  given  up  as 
hopelessly  dour. 

"Did  Miss  Hegarty  explain  to  you  that  we  wanted  to 
turn  off  a  Mttle  from  the  main  road  to  see  Dooan  Well  f 

"Is  it  the  holy  well  of  Dooan  ye  mane,  ma'am?  It's 
nothing  to  see — ye'U  not  care  for  it." 

I  thought  differently.  Our  artist  had  written  that  I 
should  on  no  account  miss  seeing  it — a  tiny  well,  scooped 
out  under  a  stone,  to  which  good  Cathohcs  brought  their 
sick  to  drink,  pray,  and  he  healed.  The  utter  desolation 
of  the  place,  in  the  midst  of  a  wild  moorland,  miles  and 
miles  away  from  any  town  or  village — the  absorbed  devo- 
tion of  the  pilgrims,  who  had  come  hither  from  great  dis- 
tances, had  struck  not  only  himself  but  an  Enghsh  clergy- 
man who  was  with  him,  as  a  remarkable  phase  of  humanity. 
And  as  my  business  was  to  see  not  only  nature,  but  human 
nature,  I  was  determined  to  go. 

Not  altogether  unopposed.  "  It's  two  miles  at  least 
out  of  our  way !"  "  Nobody  ever  heard  of  the  place !" 
"All  a  humbug  from  beginning  to  end" — were  reasons 
successively  urged  —  and  combated.  Finally,  our  driver, 
who  had  looked  as  if  he  did  not  hear  us,  but  probably  did 
listen  all  the  time,  was  told  to  drive  to  Dooan  Well. 

We  left  the  good  main  road — -the  Donegal  roads,  if  long, 
are  exceedingly  good  —  and  plunged  into  a  narrow  track, 
that  melted  gradually  into  no  track  at  all.  The  bare  moor- 
land stretched  out  on  all  sides  as  far  as  we  could  see.  Noth- 
ing else.     Not  a  man,  nor  a  beast,  nor  a  cabin,  was  visible. 


HOLT  WELli  AT  DOOAN. 
{From  a  Drawing  hy  F.  Noci,  Paton.) 


"  I  don't  believe  there's  any  well  at  all,"  said  the  most 
incredulous  of  us. 

Whether  or  not  the  driver  heard  I  cannot  tell,  but  he 
pointed  a  httle  ahead  to  a  group  of  people  just  dismount- 
ing from  a  cart  —  one  of  those  rough,  jolting  machines 
which  are  the  only  means  of  locomotion  for  the  poor 
in  Ireland,  and  compared  to  which  an  outside  car  is 
luxurious. 

"  There's  the  well ;  ye'd  betther  get  down." 

He  stopped  his  horses  detenninedly — I  think  he  crossed 
himself,  but  am  not  sure.  At  all  events,  he  seemed  re- 
solved to  keep — and  that  we  should  keep — at  a  respectful 
distance  from  the  holy  well. 


136  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

Whatever  the  rest  thought — and  I  asked  them  no  ques- 
tions, for  each  must  judge  for  himself,  and  feel  for  himself 
—  to  me  there  was  something  infinitely  touching  in  the 
sight.  A  tiny  spring,  half  hidden  by  a  big  stone ;  near  it 
a  httle  forest  of  walking-sticks,  each  with  a  rag  tied  on 
the  top — votive  offerings  or  mementoes  of  those  who  went 
away  cured;  and  in  front  of  it  a  small  group.  When  our 
artist  came  the  pilgrims  were  women,  but  to-day  they  were 
all  men.  Four  laborers,  in  the  prime  of  hf  e,  but  weak  and 
wasted,  and  each  with  that  most  pathetic  thing  to  see  in  a 
working  man — clean,  smooth,  white  hands — crept  feebly 
from  the  cart  to  the  well.  One  after  the  other  each  knelt 
down  before  it,  his  head  level  with  the  water,  and  dr^nk, 
two  or  three  times,  praying  between  whiles  with  the  dumb 
earnestness  of  desperate  faith. 

Two  or  three  women  stood  at  a  Uttle  distance  watching 
them,  in  absolute  silence,  a  rare  thing  for  the  lower-class 
Irishwomen,  and  with  faces  that  one  felt  it  was  an  intru- 
sion to  look  at.  They  took  no  notice  of  us  whatever,  nor 
did  the  sick  men.  All  seemed  entirely  absorbed  in  their 
devotions,  and  in  the  errand  which  had  brought  them 
hither.  Our  party,  whatever  they  thought,  had  the  grace 
also  to  maintain  a  respectful  silence,  and  shortly  to  move 
on  towards  a  httle  hill,  or  rather  a  huge  rock  gradually 
covered  with  vegetation,  in  the  shelter  of  which  was  one 
small  cabin,  no  other  house  being  near.  Then,  having  seen 
enough,  they  started  to  walk  ahead  of  the  carriage  across 
the  moor,  which  lay  quiet  in  the  afternoon  shadows  of  a 
perfect  August  day. 


LONDONDERRY.  137 

When  they  were  safely  disposed  of,  I  came  back  to  the 
well.  The  four  men  had  never  ceased  praying.  I  touched 
the  oldest  and  sickliest  of  them  on  the  shoulder;  he  started, 
and  looked  up  with  an  eager  face,  then  down  at  the  coin  I 
put  into  his  hand.     He  hesitated  to  take  it. 

"  A  Protestant  lady  gives  you  this,  and  hopes  you  will 
soon  get  well." 

"Thank  ye,  missis.  A  blessin'  on  ye,"  was  all  he  an- 
swered, and  went  back  to  his  prayers. 

The  other  thyee  looked  up  for  a  minute,  but  said  noth- 
ing ;  asked  nothing ;  and  kept  on  counting  their  beads  and 
muttering  as  before.  Neither  the  sick  men  nor  their  friends 
made  the  shghtest  attempt  to  beg  charity,  though  they 
were  evidently  the  poorest  of  the  poor.  And  as  I  passed 
the  cart  which  had  brought  them  hither,  the  women  who 
stood  or  sat  beside  it  —  or  knelt,  saying  their  beads,  all 
equally  silent  and  in  earnest — scarcely  cast  a  glance  at  me 

A  httle  farther  off,  but  equally  unnoticed  by  them,  was 
our  carriage  and  its  saturnine  driver.  As  he  helped  me  in, 
he  looked  keenly  at  me — and  seeing  that  my  face  was  as 
grave  as  his  own,  spoke. 

"  Ye  found  the  holy  well,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Yes.     Do  many  people  go  there  f 

"  Hundreds.  I've  seen  the  place  black  with  people. 
They  come  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  and  even  from 
Austraha." 

"  And  they  expect  to  go  home  cured  ?" 

"  They  always  are  cured,"  was  the  decisive  answer. 

I  did  not  contend  the  point,  neither  with  him  nor  with 


iSg  AN    UNKNOWN  COUNTRY, 

the  sceptic^  whom  I  picked  up  presently,  and  who,  sotto 
voce^  out  of  tenderness  to  the  man's  feehngs,  began  to 
afgue  the  question.  But  there  are  things  which  cannot 
be  argued,  only  felt. 

"  All  humbug !"  said  the  most  incredulous.  "  These 
people  saw  we  were  coming,  and  knelt  down  on  purpose, 
thinking  we  should  give  them  something." 

I  suggested  that  they  had  taken  no  notice  of  us,  and 
never  asked  us  for  a  halfpenny 

"  Then  it  must  be  pure  imagination — faith,  or  whatever 
you  choose  to  call  it." 

"But  what  is  imagination f  I  said  —  "the  intangible 
thing  which  produces  such  tangible  results  ?  And  what  is 
faith?  which  often  cures  better  than  all  the  doctors." 

"  Do  you  think  these  holy  wells  ever  really  cure  peo- 
ple f  was  asked  by  one  of  the  Enghsh  damsels  of  the  Wild 
Irish  Grirl,  as  being  more  familiar  with  the  subject  than 
they. 

"I  know  they  do.  There  was  a  young  woman  in  my 
district  in  Dubhn  who  had  a  perfectly  useless  arm :  the 
bone  was  diseased,  the  doctors  said,  and  the  case  was  in- 
curable. She  asked  me  if  she  should  go,  as  her  friends  ad- 
vised, to  a  holy  well.  All  hope  being  at  an  end,  I,  though 
a  good  Protestant,  of  course  said  yes.  She  went,  and  re- 
turned cured — able  to  use  her  arm  hke  other  people.  Now, 
what  do  you  say  to  that  V 

Why,  we  could  say  nothing.  Even  the  incredulous 
Scot,  fairly  nonplussed,  ceased  arguing,  and  turned  his  at- 
tention to  the  seemingly  endless  moor,  bare  and  bleak  as 


IIOIW   UEAI). 
{From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Noel  Paton.) 


LONDONDERRY.  141 

ever,  though,  softened  into  beauty  by  the  fast-coming  twi- 
hght.  How  in  the  world  would  those  four  sick  men  stand 
being  jolted  back  across  it  for  miles  and  miles,  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  in  that  rough  cart  % 

Yet,  thinking  of  many  people  I  know  —  clever  people, 
good  people,  who  beheve  in  nothing;  to  whom  the  vast 
mechanism  of  the  universe  is  mere  mechanism,  with  no 
guiding  spirit  behind  it  ,•  who  see  only  with  the  fleshly  eye, 
and  admit  only  as  much  as  the  fleshly  hand  can  handle,  the 
fleshly  brain  comprehend — it  was  almost  a  comfort  to  think 
also  of  those  poor  souls,  simply  Relieving ^  even  though  their 
behef  may  be  no  more  than  superstition.  But  it  answers 
its  end.  It  teaches,  as  all  the  wisdom  of  the  age  likewise 
teaches  at  last,  that  there  is  a  hmit  to  wisdom,  a  boundary 
beyond  which  the  keenest  intellect  cannot  pass,  when  the 
greatest  sage  must  sit  down  beside  the  most  ignorant 
peasant,  and  say  to  himself  practically  the  same  words — 
happy  if  he  does  say  them  and  feel  them  ! 

"  I  cannot  understand — /  /ow." 

Alas !  both  faith  and  love  are  sorely  tried  in  travelling 
through  Donegal.  The  most  earnest  preacher  of  what  is 
called  the  "enthusiasm  of  humanity"  would  be  hopeless- 
ly perplexed  at  sight  of  the  small  "  holdings "  which  we 
passed  at  rare  intervals — a  cabin  Uttle  better  than  a  pig- 
sty, a  bit  of  reclaimed  land  planted  with  potatoes,  a  peat- 
stack  cut  from  the  nearest  bog,  sometimes  a  half-stai'ved 
cow  not  much  bigger  than  a  sheep,  and  a  few  fowls.  As 
for  the  human  beings  we   saw,  adults  or  children — they 


142  AJV  UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

looked  like  heaps  of  walking  rags,  surmounted  by  a  wild 
shock  of  dark  hair,  under  which  gleamed  those  wonderful 
Irish  eyes.  How  they  managed  to  carry  on  existence,  in 
any  form  liigher  than  that  of  a  brute  beast,  seemed,  to  the 
civilized  eye,  incomprehensible. 

And  yet  Nature,  in  her  terrible  indifference,  was  so 
grandly  beautiful.  Owencarrow  river,  Muckish,  Carro- 
trasma,  and  many  other  mountains,  we  passed,  just  catch- 
ing the  names,  but  finding  it  difficult  to  individualize  any- 
thing. The  impression  left  was  of  an  interminable  splen- 
did sameness,  which  yet  had  an  infinite  variety.  The  air 
was  so  invigorating,  though  soft,  that  the  girls  felt  as  if 
they  could  walk  on  forever,  and  they  did  walk,  out  of 
compassion  to  the  horses,  who  toiled  patiently  on ;  while 
looking  back — in  that  bare,  flat  moorland  it  was  generally 
\dsible  for  miles — we  could  see  the  car  with  our  luggage, 
and  the  old  man  sitting  on  the  top,  following  patiently 
after. 

So  we  went  on,  till  suddenly  appeared  a  large  lough, 
ending  in  a  lovely  glen. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Lough  Yeagh ;  Grlen  Veagh." 

"  Mrs.  Adair's  place?  Is  that  the  castle  at  the  head 
of  the  lough  f 

The  diiver  nodded,  looking  darker  and  more  "  dour " 
than  ever.     And  this  time  I  could  guess  why. 

Some  years  ago,  in  Grlen  Yeagh  was  enacted  a  tragedy, 
which,  though  it  has  reached  me  with  many  variations,  is, 
I  think,  allowed  by  both  sides  to  have  its  foundation  in 


LONDONDERRY.  143 

certain  facts,  which,  as  near  as  I  could  get  at  them,  were 
these.  A  certain  Mr.  Adair,  a  wealthy  Scotsman,  bought 
large  tracts  of  land  here,  and  had  many  contests  with  his 
tenants,  with  whom  he  was  far  from  popular :  being  an 
absentee  landlord,  leaving  his  affairs  to  be  administered 
by  his  agents,  who  probably  understood  the  peculiarities 
of  Irish  nature  as  little  as  their  master.  One  —  no,  more 
than  one  of  them  —  was  murdered.  Then  Mr.  Adair  de- 
clared that,  if  in  three  months  the  murderers  were  not 
given  up,  he  would  evict  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  glen. 
Any  person  acquainted  with  Ireland  can  guess  the  result. 
Everybody  knew,  but  nobody  told.  Much  exasperated, 
Mr.  Adair  kept  his  word.  The  innocent  suffered  with  the 
guilty.  Every  family,  women  and  children,  young  and 
old,  was  turned  out  on  the  moor  —  for  eviction  here,  in 
this  desolate  place,  means  entire  homelessness. 

"  And  what  became  of  them  f  I  asked,  when  the  driver 
and  I  were  left  alone  in  the  carriage,  and  I  had  somehow 
made  him  understand  that  I  knew  the  story,  and  was 
sorry  for  the  poor  souls  —  at  least,  for  the  old  folks,  the 
women  and  children. 

"  Some  died,  ma'am,  and  some  settled  in  other  parts. 
A  good  many  went  to  America.  Anyhow,  there's  not 
one  o'  them  left  £ere.     Not  one." 

"And  Mr.  Adair r 

"  He's  dead." 

The  man  set  his  teeth  together,  and  hardened  his  face 
— a  face  I  should  not  like  to  meet  in  a  lonely  road.  It 
was  the  first  gUmpse  I  had  had,  since  oui*  coming  to  Ii-e- 


144  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

land,  of  that  terrible  blood  -  feud  now  existing  between 
landlord  and  tenant,  in  which  neither  will  see  the  other's 
rights  —  and  wrongs ;  nor  distinguish  between  the  just 
and  the  unjust,  the  good  and  the  bad. 

"  But  Mrs.  Adair  is  living  still  ?  and  I  was  told  yes- 
terday that  she  was  a  kind  woman,  spending  heaps  of 
money  upon  the  place,  residing  there  herself?  That  will 
do  good,  surely  f 

"  Maybe." 

"And  she  may  understand  the  people  better  than  her 
husband  did.     What  is  she  hkef 

The  driver's  countenance  relaxed  a  Httle.  "  I've  often 
druv  her  from  Letterkenny.  She's  a  sweet -spoken  lady 
enough"  (oh!  if  Irish  land -owners  did  but  understand 
the  value  of  that  "  sweet  speech "),  "  an'  she  hkes  the 
counthry — she  comes  here  as  often  as  she  can." 

"  Nobody  would  harm  her  f 

"  Sure,  no,  ma'am  !  But  for  Mr.  Adair — he  was  a  hard 
man.     He's  betther  dead." 

And  then,  as  the  rest  of  the  party  joined  the  carriage, 
my  friend  shut  his  mouth,  and  opened  it  no  more. 

"Is  he  a  Home -Ruler?"  whispered  the  Violet;  "or  a 
Fenian  ?  or  —  whatever  you  call  them  ?"  The  confused 
English  mind  takes  in  no  pohtical  distinctions  here. 

I  neither  could  nor  would  answer.  But  I  think  I  could 
better  understand  the  causes  which  work  out  such  terrible 
results — the  smouldering  flame  ready  to  blaze  up  the  in- 
stant some  incautious  or  malignant  hand  puts  a  torch  to 
it.    And  this  underground  fiire  has  been  burning  for  cen- 


LONDONDERRY.  145 

turies.  Oceans  of  extraneous  "  talkee  -  talkee  "  will  never 
put  it  out.  Nothing,  I  believe,  ever  will,  except  the  con- 
tinuously just  and  righteous  acts  of  the  righteous  inhab- 
itants— and  especially  the  land-owners — of  Ireland. 

But  now  the  day  was  darkening  fast,  all  the  more  for 
one  of  those  sudden  mountain  storms,  that  came  up  from 
what  seemed  a  long  chain  of  loughs,  with  hills  behind, 
and  hid  both  from  us.  The  finest  part  of  the  journey, 
where  the  road  passes  along  Lough  Dunlewy  and  Lough 
Nacung,  we  therefore  scarcely  saw.  But  it  was,  we  guessed, 
Uke  most  mountain  scenery,  whereas  that  we  had  just 
passed  through  was  quite  individual  —  like  nowhere  else. 
And  truth  to  tell,  we  were  growing  very  tired,  nor  sorry 
to  exchange  the  picturesque  for  the  practical.  But  our 
troubles  were  only  temporaiy — a  few  miles  more  and  there- 
awaited  us  shelter,  tea,  and  bed.  It  may  have  been  weak, 
but  as  I  thought  of  aU  these  comforts,  I  could  not  get 
out  of  my  head  those  poor  souls  turned  out  helpless  on 
the  bleak  hillside  at  Glen  Veagh  nearly  twenty  years 
ago. 

The  storm  lasted  long  enough  to  hide  from  us  a  good 
deal  —  not  everything.  By  and  by  Mount  Erigal  reap- 
peared, dimly  outhned,  and  a  few  stars  of  hght  —  on  the 
earth,  not  the  sky,  showed  we  were  at  last  coming  within 
reach  of  human  habitation.  Still,  several  miles  had  yet 
to  be  traversed,  with  the  long,  naiTow  lough  on  one  side, 
the  conical  hill  on  the  other.  Not  till  it  was  nearly  dark 
did  we  stop  suddenly  at  a  group  of  trees,  and  di'ive  under 
a  gateway  into  an  enclosed  com*tyard  —  as  I  had  i*emem- 

10 


146  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

bered  driving,  soaked  to  the  skin  and  aching  in  every 
bone,  one  wet  night  exactly  fifteen  years  before. 

Gweedore  Hotel.  Two  of  us  recollected  it  well,  and 
were  dehghted  to  see  it,  again.  The  rest  jumped  down 
with  eager  curiosity,  not  a  bit  the  worse  for  their  day's 
travelling,  and  hastened  to  see  after  their  luggage,  which 
was  close  behind. 

For  a  wonder,  it  was  a  strange  hand  which  I  felt  help- 
ing me  out  of  the  carriage;  and  a  voice,  so  kindly,  even 
tender,  that  it  quite  startled  me,  said,  as  I  descended, 

"  I'm  afraid  ye're  very  tired,  ma'am.  But  ye'U  get  a 
good  rest  at  Gweedore." 

It  was  the  (supposed)  Home-Ruler. 


PART  V. 

GWEEDORE. 

GWEEDORE — or  Guidore,  as  it  is  sometimes  wiitten 
and  spoken,  but  in  these  old  Irish  names  both  spell- 
ing and  pronunciation  seem  to  be  entirely  a  matter  of  taste 
— Gweedore  is  a  place  not  unknown  in  England,  especially 
to  salmon-fishers.  Nearly  fifty  years  ago  Lord  George  Hill, 
a  landlord  whose  property  lay  in  Derry,  acquired  in  this 
desolate  region  a  large  tract  of  almost  useless  land,  consist- 
ing principally  of  moorland  and  bog.  He  built  there  a 
small  hotel — in  a  glen,  pretty  but  not  striking,  watered  by 
the  Gweedore  and  Clady,  two  valuable  salmon  rivers — hop- 
ing to  make  it  "a  lodge  in  the  vast  wilderness,"  whither 
fishermen  and  tourists  might  resort,  and  gradually  to  gather 
round  it  a  thriving  village.  For  years  he  strove  against 
countless  difficulties,  trying  to  reclaim  the  bog  and  tuni  it 
into  cultivated  land,  which  can  only  be  done  by  long  and 
patient  manipulation;  he  started  various  industries,  ac- 
quainted himself  with  the  real  condition  of  the  people,  edu- 
cated and  elevated  them,  and  by  every  means  which  a  good 
landlord  has  in  his  power  tried  to  make  "  the  deseil;  blos- 
som as  the  rose." 


148  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

Of  Lord  George  Hill  and  his  work— all  ended  now ;  lie 
has  been  dead  some  years — I  have  heard,  as  one  continually 
does  hear  in  Ireland  (and  elsewhere  also !),  two  diametrically 
opposite  accounts.  The  one  represents  him  as  being  like 
his  neighbor,  Mr.  Adair,  "  a  hard  man,"  ready  to  grind  the 
faces  of  the  poor ;  or,  at  best,  a  man  of  good  intentions  and 
bad  fulfilments,  carrying  out  his  will — or  his  crotchets — at 
all  risks  and  costs.  The  other  picture  is  of  a  kindly  land- 
lord, full  of  the  enthusiasm  of  humanity ;  making  mistakes 
sometimes,  but  earnestly  trying  to  do  all  the  good  he  could, 
in  spite  of  being  constantly  thwarted,  misunderstood,  and 
misrepresented. 

Between  these  two  opposing  characters,  each  vouched 
for  with  equal  violence,  history  may  choose.  I  myself  pre- 
fer the  latter,  since  it  is  generally  safer  to  beheve  the  best 
than  the  worst  of  anybody.  And,  besides,  I  have  a  vivid 
personal  remembrance  of  the  kind  old  man — his  eager  de- 
hght  in  his  philanthropic  hobbies;  his  love  for  his  own 
country  and  people;  the  energy  with  which  he  used  to 
drive,  weekly,  in  all  weathers,  the  weary  miles  between  his 
own  house  near  Letterkenny  and  the  hotel  at  Gweedore,, 
looking  after  its  affairs  to  the  minutest  detail. 

The  building,  quadrangular,  and  of  two  stories  only, 
runs  round  three  sides  of  an  open  courtyard,  the  fourth 
forming  the  stables  and  offices.  Into  this  courtyard  all 
doors  enter,  the  windows  being  on  the  outside,  an  arrange- 
ment very  desirable  in  this  region  of  sea  winds  and  moun- 
tain storms.  The  aspect  is  south  and  southwest,  so  that 
the  range  of  small  parlors  below  and  small  bedrooms  above 


OWEEDORE.  149 

is  always  cheerful  and  bright.  The  one  large  apartment, 
used  as  a  dining  and  coffee  room,  has  a  comfortable  family 
look,  with  its  long  single  table  and  its  exclusively  femi- 
nine attendants — the  only  man  in  the  inside  household  be- 
ing the  necessary  Boots. 

We  remembered  it  all — the  pleasant  httle  garden  under 
the  windows,  the  river  beyond,  into  which  dwindle  Lough 
Luie  and  Lough  Nacung,  with  the  wide,  open  glen  in  the 
distance.  Within,  too,  there  was  no  change,  except  for  the 
natural  wear  and  tear  of  many  years.  The  row  of  cosey 
parlors,  each  with  its  name  above  the  door,  and  provided 
with  arm-chair  and  sofa,  was  just  as  when  Lord  George  so 
kindly  welcomed  us  there,  and  talked  to  us  all  evening, 
with  the  eager  enthusiasm  of  an  earnest  man,  of  all  he  had 
done  and  all  he  meant  to  do. 

He  is  gone  now,  and  his  work,  much  criticised  by  his 
enemies  and  half  forgotten  by  his  friends,  is  all  ended ;  but 
the  hotel  still  holds  its  ground,  the  centre  of  an  apparent- 
ly thriving  village,  and  of  a  httle  community  concerning 
whom  one  who  had  spent  half  a  lifetime  among  them  said 
to  me,  "  The  Gweedore  people  are  the  best  people  possible, 
if  only  they  were  let  alone."  And  those  who  know  Ireland 
know  what  that  means. 

Well  I  recalled  a  dark,  stormy  night  fifteen  years 
ago,  when,  after  five-and-thirty  miles  on  an  outside  car, 
in  pelting  rain,  we  drove  into  this  same  quadmngle, 
soaked  through  and  utterly  exhausted,  to  hear  the  cruel 
answer,  "You  will  have  to  go  on  to  Bunbcg,  we  can't 
make  room;"  when  a  benevolent -looking  old  gentleman 


150  AN    UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

stepped  forward,  saying,  "  You  must-  make  room,"  and 
while  an  extemporized  bedroom  was  got  ready,  took  ns 
into  his  own  parlor,  and  warmed  and  fed  us.  It  was 
Lord  Greorge  Hill. 

Ever  since,  Grweedore  had  been  to  us  the  ideal  of  what  a 
tourists'  hotel  ought  to  be — especially  in  these  wild  regions, 
where  even  the  necessaries  of  life  are  with  difficulty  ob- 
tained, and  luxuries  become  impossible.  Tourists  who  like 
luxury,  and  exist  on  outside  show,  must  not  go  to  Gwee- 
dore.  Everything  there  is  of  the  simplest  and  plainest 
kind,  and  yet  of  the  very  best. 

Neither  in  this  nor  in  any  other  room  was  there?  any 
aesthetic  taste,  but  there  was  a  great  deal  of  comfort.  Per- 
fect was  the  cleanliness  of  the  tiny  bedrooms,  each  with  its 
iron  bedstead  and  its  strips  of  carpet  across  the  spotless 
floor,  its  plain  deal  washstand  and  chest  of  drawers,  its 
tidy  curtain,  and — oh,  rare  luxury  in  Ireland! — bUnds  that 
act,  windows  that  open,  and  doors  that  shut !  Everything 
was  planned  so  as  to  be  readily  washable  and  brushable, 
and  that  it  was  washed  and  brushed  with  rigorous  exacti- 
tude a  glance  showed.  How  different  from  a  late  experi- 
ence— I  will  not  say  where;  when  pursuing  a  handful  of 
errant  pennies  under  the  bed — a  very  handsome  bed  for  a 
hotel — I  came  upon  a  mountain  of  dust,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  deliberately  accumulated,  not  for  weeks,  but 
months.  Sad  testimony  to  that  fatal  habit — in  England 
said  to  be  "  so  Irish !" — of  putting  evil  out  of  sight  instead 
of  sweeping  it  clean  away. 

But  we  were  here  to  enjoy,  not  to  moralize.     And  those 


GWEEDORE.  151 

who  know  how  much  enjoyment  in  travel  depends  on  Httle 
things,  on  coming  in  hungry  to  a  well -cooked  meal,  and 
stretching  one's  tired  limbs  on  a  decent,  comfortable  bed, 
getting  all  one  reasonably  wants,  and  being  kept  waiting 
for  nothing,  will  understand  our  appreciation  of  Gweedore. 

"  Yes,  we  try  to  do  our  best,  and  keep  it  up  as  in  Lord 
George's  time,"  said  the  present  manager,  Mr.  Robertson, 
and  his  pleasant  and  capable  sister.  "  But  it  isn't  as  when 
he  was  coming  himself  every  week  and  taking  an  interest 
in  everything  about  the  place.  Lady  George  comes  now 
and  again,  but  Captain  Hill  lives  at  a  distance,  and,  of 
course,  is  seldom  here.  And  we  have  had  our  difficul- 
ties. We  were  boycotted  once,  but  not  for  long;  the 
people  found  they  could  not  do  without  us,  so  they  gave 
it  up." 

I  could  well  understand  this.  Mad  as  is  the  blood-feud 
between  Protestants  and  Cathohcs,  landlord  and  tenant — 
both  sides  often  seeming  to  act  the  part  of  the  typical 
Irishman  who  was  so  bent  on  sawing  off  a  bough  that  he 
sat  on  the  end  of  it  and  sawed  it  off,  between  himself  and 
the  tree ! — still,  the  insanest  of  its  enemies  must  see  that  a 
good  hotel,  planted  in  a  wild  region  like  Gweedore,  might 
be  made  a  permanent  centre  of  civihzation — employing  la- 
bor, buying  up  provisions,  and  being  a  constant  source  of 
income  to  all  the  country-side. 

"  We  try  to  make  it  so,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "  but  it  is 
upliill  work."  And  he  gave  us  many  details,  useless  to  re- 
peat, which  made  my  heaii  feel  sick  and  sore ;  as  indeed  it 
often  did,  to  hear  from  opposite  sides  the  most  contradic- 


152  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

tory  versions  of  the  same  fact — if  a  fact  at  all — and  see 
this  lovely  and  lovable  Ireland  made  into  a  battle-ground, 
where  every  one  was  ready  to  fight  tooth  and  nail,  not  so 
much  against  actual  evil,  as  against  anything  that  differed 
from  his  own  pecuhar  notion  of  what  was  good. 

It  was  such  a  fine  morning  that  the  others  decided  to  go 
a-fishing  in  Lough  Nacung,  in  charge  of  Paddy,  the  hotel 
fisherman.  But  I,  who  never  could  understand  the  pleas- 
ure intelligent  human  beings  take  in  inveigling  to  its  de- 
struction one  small  trout,  preferred  a  meditative  saunter 
along  the  banks  of  the  lough,  interchanging  an  occasional 
word  with  the  two  or  three  country  people  I  met,  and  en- 
joying to  the  full  the  exceeding  peace  of  the  place — the  per- 
fection of  a  place  for  those  who  are  able  to  do  nothing, 
since  there  is  actually  nothing  to  be  done. 

Gweedore  must  have  been,  when  first  colonized  by  Lord 
George  Hill,  a  district  as  innocent  of  civihzation  as  if  it  had 
been  one  of  our  beyond-sea  possessions.  Of  archa3ological 
or  historical  interest  it  had  none — at  least,  none  that  was 
known.  Nor  was  it  specially  picturesque.  After  Glen 
Yeagh  the  broad  chain  of  loughs  diminishes  to  a  rather 
commonplace  river,  and  Gweedore  Glen,  though  broad  and 
bright,  has  no  remarkable  features,  except  the  one  moun- 
tain, Erigal,  which  from  its  rounded  shape  and  exceeding 
whiteness  is  noticeable  everywhere.  Though  the  sea  is 
only  four  miles  off,  there  is  here  no  sign  of  it ;  and  save  at 
the  salmon -leap,  the  river  flows  placidly  between  reedy 
banks,  half  moorland  and  half  bog.  In  short,  one  can 
hardly  say  what  is  the  charm  of  Gweedore — and  yet  it  has 


GWEEDORE  GLEN. 
(Prom  a  Drawing  by  V.  Nukl  Patom.) 


a  charm,  which  we  felt  on  the  very  first  day,  and  never 
ceased  to  feel. 

Perhaps  it  is  the  exceeding  deliciousness  of  the  air; 
fresh  but  soft,  more  like  the  air  of  Dartmoor  than  any 
place  I  know,  and  yet  with  all  the  bracing  quahties  of  a 
mountain.  Then  the  wide  glen — open,  not  shut-in — ^is  so 
dry  and  bright ;  every  ray  of  sunshine  being  caught  by  and 
reflected  from  the  gUttering  sides  of  Mount  Erigal.  On 
this  last  day  of  August  it  seemed  to  be  full  summer  still ; 
one  of  those  calm,  clear  days  which  make  one  feel  mere  ex- 
istence to  be  a  blessing.  A  "quiet  day"  we  had  deter- 
mined it  should  be — to  he  upon  our  oars  (which  we  did  lit- 
erally, most  of  us,  for  a  good  many  hours,  of  which  the  re- 


154  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

suit  was  a  few,  a  very  few,  almost  infantile  trout,  for  break- 
fast next  morning),  to  do  nothing,  think  of  nothing,  in 
short  to  be  absolutely,  ingloriously,  or  gloriously,  idle. 

For  me,  I  was  content  merely  to  wander  along  the  soh- 
tary  road  and  watch  white  Erigal  shining  in  the  sun.  Of 
its  geological  formation  I  know  nothing,  but  it  is  a  rather 
remarkable  mountain  to  look  at ;  on  one  side  not  difficult 
to  chmb,  but  the  other  is  a  succession  of  smooth  slopes, 
down  which  apparently  a  single  shde  would  take  you  to  the 
very  bottom.  You,  or  whatever  might  be  left  of  you.  One 
shivered  to  think  of  it.  And  when,  in  the  middle  of  din- 
ner, two  young  tourists  came  in,  and  we  guessed  from  their 
talk  that  they  had  been  over  Mount  Erigal,  we  regarded 
them  with  curiosity. 

They  were  English — apparently  University  men,  and  gen- 
tlemen— rather  a  contrast  to  the  "  commercial  gentlemen  " 
species  which  we  had  encountered  lately ;  two  nice-looking 
young  fellows,  brothers  or  friends,  and  ready  to  speak  when 
spoken  to — for  there  was  a  kind  of  pleasant  sociableness 
about  this  Gweedore  hotel,  which,  like  many  other  Irish 
hotels,  had  been  nearly  empty  since  the  disturbances. 

"Yes,"  one  of  them  said,  "we  walked  to-day  about 
seventeen  miles,  and  then  we  climbed  Mount  Erigal.  We 
did  well  enough  till  we  got  to  the  top,  and  we  had  a  fine 
view ;  but  then  the  mist  came  on,  we  lost  the  path,  and  de- 
scended on  the  wrong  side,  sliding  pretty  nearly  the  whole 
way.     We  were  not  sorry  to  be  safe  at  the  bottom." 

I  should  think  not !  How  they  ever  got  down  ahve  was 
a  mystery  to  me,  who  had  been  watching  the  mountain  all 


tmmmmmmmmmii 


MOUNT   ERIGAL,   GWEEDOUE. 
(From  a  Drauritu;  by  F.  Noki.  Patom.) 

the  afternoon.  But  they  seemed  to  take  it  very  coolly,  and 
though  they  looked  tired  and  battered,  and  disappeared 
early,  had  clearly  enjoyed  themselves — after  the  wholesome 
fashion  of  so  many  young  Enghshmen,  who  work  their 
brains  for  nearly  all  the  year,  and  then  in  their  brief  holi- 
day work  their  bodies  too,  to  the  last  Umit  of  physical  en- 
durance, and  find  pleasure  therein.  Which  it  is — to  simple 
honest  natures.  We  all  liked  the  lads,  and  finding  they 
were  quite  ignorant  of  the  neighborhood,  took  pains  to  ex- 
plain to  them  what  there  was  to  see. 

"  We'll  take  a  day's  rest,  I  think,"  said  the  elder ;  **  and 
then  we  go  on  to  Carrick.  We  haven't  any  time  to  throw 
away." 


156  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

No  more  had  we.  Who  has,  I  wonder?  So  we  all 
parted,  having  mapped  out  next  day,  which  was  to  be  a 
most  interesting  day  for  me,  being  the  fulfilment  of  a  pur- 
pose which  I  had  wished  to  carry  out  for  fifteen  years. 

"  Fifteen  years !"  laughed  my  girls,  to  whom  it  seemed 
an  eternity.  But  it  is  a  standing  joke  that  my  plans  al- 
ways do  come  to  pass,  probably  because  I  have  an  infinite 
patience  in  waiting  for  them. 

September  1st. — "  And  a  dehghtful  day !  Now  we  shall 
go  and  see  Skull  Island." 

Which  was  the  place  I  had  told  them  of,  and  evoked  in 
them  nearly  as  great  an  interest  as  my  own. 

The  case  was  this.  On  my  first  visit  to  Gweedore,  wan- 
dering aimlessly  about,  we  had  gone  to  Bunbeg,  a  little 
fishing  village  about  four  miles  off.  There  we  visited  a 
small  island — at  low  water  a  peninsula — a  mere  sand-heap, 
lying  in  ridges  that  sloped  landward  towards  the  bay.  In 
this  sand -heap  I  found  to  my  amazement  a  quantity  of 
human  bones — leg-bones,  arm-bones,  skulls — Ipng  so  close 
to  the  surface  that  with  a  stick  or  umbrella  you  could  have 
digged  them  out  of  the  sand  by  dozens. 

I  asked  the  man  who  had  guided  us  across  the  sandy 
causeway — for  it  was  low  water — if  I  might  take  one  as  a 
curiosity. 

"  'Deed,  ma'am,  and  ye  may  take  as  many  of  them  as  ye 
like.  We  lets  the  children  have  them  to  play  with.  There's 
heaps  of  them  about  here.  That's  why  it's  called  Skull 
Island." 


But  to  any  further  inquiries  he 
only  shook  his  head.  He  knew  noth- 
ing— nobody  knew  nothing.  He  sup- 
posed they  were  "  just  bones."  He  seemed,  indeed,  hardly 
to  take  in  the  fact  that  they  were  human  bones  like  himself. 
As  to  how  they  got  there,  he  was  in  a  state  of  entire  igno- 
rance— and  indifference.  Whether  the  island,  considered  a 
sacred  spot,  as  all  islands  were  in  what  we  call  the  "  dark  " 
ages,  had  been  used  as  a  burial-place — whether  it  was  the 
scene  of  a  great  battle  or  a  shipwreck,  and  this  idea  seems 
possible — since,  the  guide  told  me,  most  of  the  skulls  found 
had  such  splendid  teeth,  and  therefore  must  have  been 
those  of  young  men — all  these  matters  of  intense  interest 
were  to  that  worthy  man  nothing  at  all.  He  and  every 
other  person  I  spoke  to  on  the  subject  persisted  that  no- 


158  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

body  knew  anything — and  certainly  nobody  cared — about 
Skull  Island. 

So,  routing  among  the  sand,  which  was  spread  so  lightly 
that  at  the  depth  of  six  inches  I  might  easily  have  disin- 
terred any  quantity  of  bones,  I  picked  up  two  "beautiful" 
skulls,  quite  perfect,  the  teeth  being  white,  strong,  and 
regulars-such  as  one  rarely  sees  even  in  a  young  person  in 
these  degenerate  days.  I  wrapped  them  up  in  my  shawl 
and  carried  them  down  to  the  boat,  which  was  waiting  to 
take  us  across  what  had  an  hour  or  two  ago  been  a  firm 
pathway  of  sand. 

"You're  never  going  to  take  those  things  home f  said 
my  companion,  in  much  disgust,  sitting  down  by  mistake 
upon  one  of  them.  But  I  saved  the  other,  and,  hiding  it 
in  my  bonnet-box,  brought  it  safe  to  London  and  gave  it 
to  a  learned  friend;  who  admired  it  exceedingly,  said  the 
teeth  were  very  remarkable,  and  the  cranium  also ;  being 
of  a  pecuhar  shape,  unknown  among  our  modem  races. 
Of  its  age,  or  how  long  it  had  been  buried,  he  could  offer 
no  conjecture  whatever. 

This  deepened  the  mystery.  For  years  Skull  Island 
positively  haunted  me.  I  spoke  of  it  to  many  archaeologi- 
cal friends;  several  promised  to  investigate  it.  But  the 
great  distance  and  the  utter  absence  of  all  historical  or 
traditional  data  always  stood  in  the  way.  At  last  I  deter- 
mined to  go  myself,  and,  after  the  usual  amount  of  years  of 
waiting,  here  I  was ! 

Thp  Barbarous  Scot,  who  is  not  archaeological,  and 
openly  expresses  his  dislike  to  "  dead  men's  bones,"  viewed 


G  WEED  ORE.  159 

my  excitement  with  a  tender  pity,  but  helped  me  to  in- 
dulge in  it  by  securing  a  car  at  the  earUest  possible  hour 
after  breakfast.  The  girls  were  interested  too — especially 
the  Violet,  who  seemed  to  think  the  skeleton  of  a  defunct 
Norseman  might  be  almost  as  curious  a  sight  as  a  live 
Home-Ruler.  So  off  we  started,  in  the  best  of  spirits,  to 
see  what  we  should  see. 

Bunbeg  is  an  uninteresting  place  in  itself,  but  it  is 
the  grand  emporium  of  commerce  of  the  district,  and,  for 
Gweedore,  the  nearest  point  of  contact  with  the  external 
world.  The  only  other  naeans  of  traffic  is  by  horse  and  car 
along  the  mountain  roads.  When,  some  little  time  ago, 
the  owner  of  the  extensive  salmon  fisheries  here  was  boy- 
cotted, and  warned  that  his  fish  would  be  stopped  in  their 
transit  across  country,  he,  with  true  Enghsh  coolness, 
arranged  that  the  Sligo  and  DeiTy  boats  should  call  at 
Bunbeg.  This  sea-traffic  has  resulted  in  bringing  most  of 
the  necessary  provisions  to  be  got  in  towns  by  that  route. 
Consequently  the  keeper  of  the  Bunbeg  store  is  a  very  use- 
ful and  important  person  in  the  neighborhood. 

We  lounged  about  his  place — amusing  ourselves  with 
the  usual  heterogeneous  collection  of  goods  that  one  finds 
in  a  coimtry  shop ;  and  looking  at  the  tiny  harbor  with 
its  half  a  dozen  idlers,  who  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  do 
but  contemplate  that  novel  sight — ourselves.  Apparently 
the  only  interesting  place  near  was  Gweedore  Catholic 
Chapel,  on  the  opposite  side,  where  we  had  noticed  the  road 
di\ide.  It  is  built  in  a  ravine,  down  which  not  many  years 
ago  there  suddenly  came  pouring  a  waterspout  from  the 


160  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

mountains.  It  broke,  and  the  chapel  was  washed  away, 
an  old  woman  who  happened  to  be  in  it  at  the  time  being 
drowned.  The  exertions  of  the  energetic  parish  priest 
rebuilt  it  better  than  before,  but,  with  the  fatal  persistency 
of  a  half-civilized  people,  who  will  not  profit  by  experience, 
it  was  built  in  the  very  same  place ;  so  that  the  next  cy- 
clone may,  in  that  narrow  ravine,  wash  it  away  altogether 
— which  probably  the  Protestant  Church,  seated  on  a  hill 
above  Bunbeg,  would  consider  "  a  judgment." 

Alas !  to  strangers  those  feuds,  religious  and  pohtical, 
which  in  secluded  districts  take  such  huge  proportions, 
dwindle  to  nothing,  only  provoke  a  smile — or  a  sigh.  Was 
there  the  same  kind  of  thing — petty  strifes,  petty  jealousies 
— ^furious  loves,  and  unreasoning  hates — among  those  poor 
bones  that  we  were  going  to  search  for  in  the  sand  of  Skull 
Island  ? 

We  began  to  question  whether  we  should  ever  get  there. 
No  boat  or  boatman  could  be  found,  and  the  tide  was  fast 
receding. 

"  Ye'U  be  able  to  cross  on  foot  soon,"  said  a  very  respect- 
able-looking man,  who  had  taken  a  kindly  interest  in  our 
proceedings.  "  I'll  guide  ye,  and  keep  ye  safe  out  of  the 
quicksands.  I've  nothing  better  to  do" — seeing  we  hesi- 
tated — "  I'U  take  ye  there  and  bring  ye  back.  It's  no 
throuble." 

So  he  marched  on  ahead  of  us  for  what  seemed  nearly 
a  mile's  walk,  up  hiU  and  down  dale,  and  then  across  a  bit 
of  boggy  ground  which  sloped  down  to  the  sea -shore. 
There,  just  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor,  across  a  stretch 


G  WEED  ORE.  161 

of  wet,  shiny  sand,  with  tiny  rivers  of  sea-water  flowing 
through  it,  was  the  Httle  sand-island,  wholly  bare  of  veg- 
etation, sloping  upward,  ledge  after  ledge,  to  the  high 
boulders  which  formed  its  rock-boundary  on  the  seaward 
side. 

"That's  it  —  that's  Skull  Island,"  said  our  unknown 
friend,  who  was  grave  and  taciturn,  but  still  had  more  than 
once  held  out  a  civil  and  most  welcome  hand  to  help  us 
through  the  rough  walking.  "Ye  can  easily  cross  to  it 
now — I'll  show  ye  the  way." 

And  following  him  in  the  driest  places  we  could  find, 
with  occasional  jumps  over  the  shining  channels  of  water 
that  intersected  the  never  too  solid  sand — we  reached  the 
spot.  I  well  remembered  it  of  old  —  the  strange,  lonely 
))urial-place  of  those  unknown,  long-forgotten  dead. 

"Yes  —  that's  the  ridge  where  the  bones  mostly  he. 
Lord  George  Hill,  just  before  he  died,  made  me  bury  a  lot 
o'  them,  but  ye'll  find  plenty  yet.  Every  strong  wind  blows 
the  sand  away  —  and  they  turns  up  again.  It's  a  quare 
place  to  have  chosen  for  a  burying -ground." 

We  agreed.  But  on  questioning  him  we  found — though 
he  had  lived  at  Bunbeg  nearly  all  his  life — that  the  good 
man  knew  no  more  about  Skull  Island  than  we  did. 
\Yliether  there  had  been  a  battle  there,  or  a  shipwi*eck — 
and  the  fact  that  most  of  the  skulls  had  their  teeth  very 
perfect  seemed  to  imply  that  the  mass  of  dead  were  chiefly 
young  men— or  whether  it  was  the  ordinary  bmial-place  of 
some  of  the  many  forgotten  monasteries,  planted  every- 
where by  the  old  Irish  "  saints  "  in  their  system  of  ecclesi- 
11 


162  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

astical  polity,  which  was  so  strangely,  completely  civilized, 
amid  the  barbarism  of  neighboring  lands  —  all  was  the 
merest  conjecture.  There  the  bones  were ;  and  nothing 
more  could  be  discovered  concerning  them. 

We  set  to  work  hunting,  and  in  two  or  three  minutes 
had  found  an  arm-bone,  a  leg-bone,  two  bits  of  jaw-bone 
with  exceedingly  fine  teeth,  and  several  finger -bones,  all 
bleached  white,  and  of  that  rare  perfection  of  shape  and 
fitness  which  sometimes  startles  us  living  beings  to  think 
how  "  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made "  is  the  framework 
we  carry  about  with  us,  the  temporary  mortal  residence 
of  this  immortal  "I."  And  then,  hidden  under  a  ledge  of 
soft  sand,  we  came  upon  a  good  many  more. 

By  and  by,  two  black  figures  were  seen  crossing  the 
sands — our  young  friends  of  the  evening  before,  to  whom  I 
had  explained  about  Skull  Island.  We  asked  them  to  join 
in  the  work,  which  they  did  con  amove. 

A  curious  scene  it  was— that  sunshiny  spot,  so  quiet 
and  silent,  except  for  the  sound  of  the  Atlantic  waves 
breaking  against  the  rocks  at  the  back — and  those  five 
young  people  on  their  hands  and  knees,  digging  eagerly 
with  sticks,  umbrellas,  and  fingers,  for  this  unknown  relic 
of  an  era  utterly  unchronicled.  Soon  they  found  it, 
the  entire  skeleton  of  a  man  —  buried  face  upward  in  the 
sand.  First  was  uncovered  an  arm-bone,  then  a  leg-bone, 
both  lying  straight  in  their  places;  then  the  collar-bones, 
then  a  line  of  little  bones  forming  the  vertebrae.  There  he 
lay,  except  for  the  skull,  which  was  missing — "streekit 
smooth,"  just  as  when  he  had  been  buried. 


G  WEED  ORE.  163 

'  We  might  have  wholly  disinterred  him ;  our  guide,  a 
little  distance  off,  looking  gravely  on,  neither  helping  nor 
hindering — hut  a  sudden  feeling  seemed  to  come  over  us 
of  the  ghoul-like  nature  of  our  proceedings.  The  contrast 
between  this  gay,  open  -  air  company,  with  its  youthful 
jests  and  laughter,  and  those  poor  bones,  once  as  living  as 
ourselves,  struck  us  as  something  incongruous  —  even 
ghastly.  The  mirthful  excitement  ceased — one  by  one  the 
young  people  stopped  digging. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  was  hke  when  aUve.  Tall,  proba- 
bly— a  Norse  chieftain  or  a  Viking." 

*'  Or  one  of  St.  Columba's  monks.  Or,  perhaps,  a  ship- 
wrecked sailor  out  of  the  Spanish  Armada." 

"  Suppose  we  cover  him  up  again,"  suggested  some  one 
— I  think  it  was  the  Brown  Bird,  who  has  in  her  much  of 
the  tender  spirit  attributed  to  the  robins  in  the  "  Children 
of  the  Wood."  "What  good  will  it  do  to  dig  him  up? 
Let  him  rest." 

All  agreed.  Silently  and  gravely  the  bones  —  or  as 
many  as  had  been  removed — were  put  back  into  their 
places,  under  the  overhanging  ledge,  and  the  sand  piled 
carefully  over  them,  so  as  to  hide  fr9m  less  reverent  eyes 
all  vestiges  of  what  was  once  a  man.  Only  the  finger-bone 
and  two  bits  of  jaw-bone,  which  I  had  put  in  my  pock- 
et, I  found  there  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  too  late  to  re- 
store— and  so  brought  them  home  in  safe  seclusion  among 
my  lace  caps. 

Our  quest  ended,  we  sat  and  ate  our  lunch  under  shelter 
of  one  of  the  two  or  three  boulders  which  marked  the  high- 


164  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

est  point  of  the  tiny  island,  and  whence  we  could  see  other 
islands  a  little  farther  out — Gola,  Umphin,  Inishfree,  Owey. 
We  wandered  about  the  narrow  Hmits  of  this  one,  and 
talked  to  our  guide  about  it ;  but  could  get  no  information. 
He  said  we  had  been  lucky  in  finding  "a  whole  person,"  as 
that  was  not  often  found  now — the  children  throw  the 
bones  about  so  much.  Sometimes  they  picked  up  in  the 
sand  "curiosities,"  such  as  long  pins  of  some  metal — but 
nobody  cared  to  preserve  them.  Nobody  wanted  old 
things  hereabouts.  There  was  a  sunken  ship  lying  out 
there  (he  pointed  across  the  sea  to  a  spot  about  three 
miles  off).  People  said  it  was  one  of  the  Spanish  Armada. 
At  low  water  it  was  seen  so  clearly  that  you  could  almost 
have  stood  on  the  hull. 

"  And  did  no  diver  go  down  to  see  it  f 

"  Sure  nobody  would  take  the  trouble,"  was  the  answer, 
with  an  indifferent  smile.  "About  twenty-five  years  ago 
some  gentlemen  subscribed  for  the  getting-up  of  an  anchor 
— I  saw  it  pulled  out  of  the  water — it  was  all  rusty  and  cov- 
ered with  shells,  and  they  sent  it  to  a  museum  in  Dublin." 

We  listened — some  eagerly,  some  sceptically — but  with 
all  our  cross-questionings  the  man  kept  to  the  same  story, 
that  the  ship  still  lay  there;  many  a  boatman  had  sailed 
over  it,  and  as  for  the  anchor,  he  had  seen  it  himseK  with 
his  own  eyes. 

Grood  sea-eyes  they  were ;  for,  looking  across  the  At- 
lantic, he  suddenly  warned  us  there  was  a  storm  coming. 

"Ye'd  better  get  ashore  afore  it's  on  ye.  Keep  close 
afther  me — there's  quicksands  here  and  there." 


G  WEED  ORE.  165 

And  with  a  care  quite  fatherly,  he  piloted  us  back  the 
way  we  came — across  the  sandy  causeway,  not  shiny  now, 
but  dull  and  ugly-looking,  as  if  it  could  swallow  us  up  if  it 
chose.  Was  it  by  this  road  that  the  bodies  were  carried  for 
burial — ^if  indeed  Skull  Island  had  been  a  Christian  resting- 
place  in  monkish  times  ?  However,  conjecture  was  useless. 
Nothing  could  be  found  out,  and  probably  nothing  ever 
will  be. 

In  parting  from  our  guide,  who  had  taken  so  much 
kindly  trouble  over  us,  he  was  of  course  offered  some  re- 
turn.    He  put  back  the  coin  with  a  dignified  independence. 

"  Thank  ye,  sir ;  but  I  couldn't  take  it.  I'm  not  needing 
money.  If  ye'U  come  to  my  httle  place  the  lady  can  rest, 
and  my  sister  will  give  ye  aU  a  cup  of  tea." 

This  was  indeed  unexpected,  and  though  we  wanted  no 
tea,  for  it  was  only  three  o'clock;  we  could  not  refuse  such 
kindly  hospitality.  So  I  walked  on  with  our  unknown 
friend,  to  whom  we  were  equally  unknown,  as  sociably  as 
if  we  were  Arabs  meeting  in  the  desert.  On  the  way  he 
told  me,  as  many  a  stranger  has  done  before,  in  words  few 
and  simple,  but  which  touched  me  to  the  heart,  a  whole 
life-story.  I  shall  not  repeat  it  here,  but  I  shall  long  re- 
member it — and  him. 

The  cottage,  the  sister,  who  had  charge  of  the  widow- 
er's children,  and  the  children  themselves,  all  interested  me 
much ;  and  the  glass  of  milk  with  which  I  compounded  for 
the  tea,  was  perfectly  delicious.  On  our  departure  our  host 
shook  hands  with  all  of  us,  looking  almost  regretfully  after 
his  still  unknown  guests. 


166  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

It  was  well  he  did.  Not  two  minutes  afterwards,  by 
some  queer  equine  manoeuvre — there's  no  understanding 
your  tricksy  four-footed  animals! — we  felt  the  wagonet 
backing  against  a  stone  wall,  with — as  well  as  I  can  remem- 
ber— a  deep  ditch  below.  The .  Brown  Bird  and  the  Bar- 
barous Scot,  who  knew  most  about  it,  looked  anxiously  at 
one  another ;  the  rest  of  us  sat  dead  silent,  awaiting  what 
might  happen.  And  there  is  no  saying  what  might  have 
happened,  had  not  our  good  friend  darted  forward,  seized 
the  horses'  heads,  and  guided  them  into  safety.  We  bade 
him  a  second  and  most  grateful  good-bye,  feeling  that  we 
probably  owed  him  our  hves. 

We  were  rather  quiet  all  the  way  to  Grweedore,  and 
then  our  spirits  rose.  Either  the  Atlantic  storm  never 
came,  or  we  had  driven  out  of  its  reach — the  afternoon 
was  beautiful.  All  who  could  walk  proposed  to  start  off 
along  the  moorland  road  towards  Falcarragh;  I  follow- 
ing after,  in  the  leisurely  way  out  of  which  old  folks, 
who  have  courage  to  accept  the  fact  that  they  cannot  do 
like  the  young,  may  get  so  much  pleasure,  and  trouble 
nobody. 

It  was  a  very  lonely  road,  and  yet  so  sweet ;  with  the 
shining  line  of  lakes  stretching  all  the  way  to  Grlen  Yeagh, 
the  smooth  sides  of  glittering  Erigal,  on  the  left  hand,  the 
long  thread  of  mountain  road  visible  for  miles,  and  the 
fresh,  pure  air,  half  mountain,  half  bog;  one  has  to  go  to 
Ireland  to  learn  the  wonderfully  bracing  properties  of  bog 
air,  the  same  above  the  surface  as  its  preservative  qual- 
ities  below.     Walking   became    a   pleasure   instead   of   a 


G  WEED  ORE.  167 

weariness.  For  an  hour  I  met  not  a  creature,  except  a 
big  cart-horse  carrying  a  young  man  and  woman,  without 
a  saddle.  Her  scarlet  plaid  was  over  her  head,  with  its 
neatly-combed,  glossy  black  hair,  her  bare  feet  dangled, 
and  her  arms  were  round  the  young  man's  waist.  They 
might  have  been  sweethearts,  but  looked  more  like  brother 
and  sister,  jogging  along  so  steady  and  so  grave. 

I  sat  on  the  low  turf  wall  and  watched  them,  thinking 
what  a  picture  they  made,  and  wondering,  as  one  does 
wonder  sometimes,  how  hfe  goes  on  among  people  differ- 
ent to  ourselves  in  habits  and  education ;  what  they  think 
of,  what  they  talk  about,  and  how  difficult  it  is  to  judge 
of  their  feehngs  by  our  own.  And  yet  one  ought  to  try 
to  understand  and  get  near  them,  as  I  tried,  by  smiles 
and  biscuits  combined,  to  win  some  httle  ragamuffins  who 
were  playing  near  two  or  three  roadside  cabins.  One 
could  scarcely  tell  whether  they  were  boys  or  gii'ls,  their 
few  clothes  were  so  oddly  heterogeneous.  They  hardly 
understood  EngUsh,  I  thought,  from  the  few  words  I  got 
out  of  the  biggest  of  them,  but  I  managed  to  discover 
that  they  had  seen  a  gentleman  and  three  ladies  walking 
up  the  road. 

"  If  you  see  them  again,  go  and  speak  to  them,  and 
say  mother  has  gone  home.  Remember  the  words,  mother 
— has — ^gone — home. " 

The  small  individual — I  tliink  the  bundle  of  rags  con- 
tained a  boy — nodded  solemnly,  and  passed  my  last  biscuit 
over  to  two  lesser  infants,  who  regarded  it  as  if  they  had 
never  seen  such  a  thing  before,  and  never  attempted  to 


168  AN  UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

eat  it.  Exceedingly  doubtful  as  to  how  far  I  had  been 
understood — though  I  afterwards  found  my  message  had 
been  accurately  and  literally  delivered — I  spoke  to  a 
woman  whom  I  met  shortly  after  and  found  that  she 
had  seen  my  party. 

"  Three  young  ladies  and  a  gentleman.  That's  yer  hus- 
band, maybe"?  He's  pretty  well  on" — in  years,  I  suppose 
she  meant — "like  yerself." 

And  she  eyed  me  over,  especially  my  stick,  with  simple 
kindliness,'  and  slackened  her  brisk  ^  pace  to  keep  beside 
me.  She  was  a  big,  strong,  middle-aged  woman,  in  the 
usual  fi'ieze  petticoat  and  bright-colored  shawl,  with  bare 
head  and  feet.  But  her  clothes  were  whole,  her  face  was 
clean,  and  her  hair  tidy.  She  carried  a  large  bundle,  and 
was  evidently  bound  for  a  journey  of  a  good  many  miles. 
We  went  on  together,  I  putting  my  best  foot  forwards, 
but  in  vain. 

"  I'm  going  too  fast  for  ye,  ma'am.  Ye  see,  I'm  used 
to  walking.  An'  my  brogues" — glancing  with  sly  humor 
at  her  bare  feet — "  my  brogues  don't  wear  out." 

I  laughed,  confessed  my  inferiority,  and  then  we  fell 
into  a  long  talk.  She  spoke  slowly  and  a  little  disjoint- 
edly,  as  if  she  had  first  to  arrange  her  thoughts  and 
then  translate  them  into  a  foreign  tongue.  I  do  not 
attempt,  never  have  attempted,  to  give  the  brogue ;  indeed, 
here  I  rarely  found  it.  The  "  stage "  Irish,  the  unc- 
tuous Cork  and  Limerick  accent,  and  the  Dublin  twang, 
are  not  noticeable  in  Antrim,  Derry,  and  Donegal,  where 
the  original  Gaehcj  has  been  gradually  changed  into  the 


GWEEDORE.  169 

English  taught  at  National  Schools.  Many  of  the  older 
generation  speak  only  Irish,  but  the  younger  population 
know  both  languages,  though,  as  with  this  woman,  their 
English  comes  to  them  like  a  foreign  tongue — slowly,  but 
con'ectly. 

We  talked  a  good  deal  about  the  state  of  the  countiy. 
"  It's  been  hard  times  with  us  for  a  long  time,"  she  said, 
"  but  things  are  mending  a  bit.  Many  of  us  have  gone 
to  America — there's  no  starving  there.  A  kind  English 
lady  has  been  helping  us  in  Donegal — the  women,  I  mean 
— giving  us  work  and  paying  for  it.  Maybe  ye'U  know 
her?" 

"  Mrs.  Ernest  Hart,"  I  suggested — glad  to  own  that  I 
did  know  her. 

"  Sure,  that's  the  name.  I  don't  work  for  her  myself, 
but  I  know  them  as  does.  She  pays  them  regularly,  ye 
see.  She's  brought  a  little  money  into  the  counthry,  and 
it's  money  we  want ;  we're  all  so  poor." 

Yet  the  woman  never  asked,  or  by  her  manner  hinted 
in  the  smallest  degree,  that  I  should  give  her  money. 
Nor  did  I — her  air  of  sturdy  independence  would  have 
made  me  ashamed  to  offer  it. 

She  gave  me,  in  her  unconscious  candor,  much  infor- 
mation about  Donegal,  and  asked  of  me  no  end  of  ques- 
tions, after  the  simple  fashion  of  country  people,  who 
take  as  much  interest  in  you  as  they  expect  you  to  take 
in  them;  a  refreshing  change  from  the  bitterly -learned 
reticence^-or  indifference — of  towns.  And  when  I  said  I 
would  not  hinder  her  longer,  as  I  could  not  walk  as  fast 


170  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

as  she  could,  she  regarded  me  with  a  tender  pity  that  was 
amusing. 

"  I  see  ye  can't.  Ye're  not  as  young  as  ye  have  heen, 
though  ye're  wearin'  pretty  well.  Ye'd  betther  sit  down 
a  bit." 

Which  I  did,  on  a  tempting  bank  of  turf ;  and  watched 
her  down  the  road,  with  her  free,  springy  step,  and  upright 
carriage,  fit  to  be  mother  to  half  a  dozen  Donegal  "  boys  " 
— as  no  doubt  she  was.  And  I  thought  what  splendid 
stuff  these  Irish  peasants  are  made  of,  if  only — to  repeat 
what  more  than  one  compatriot  said  of  them — "if  only 
they  were  let  alone." 

Not  let  alone  in  neglect;  that  is  a  totally  different 
thing.  And  yet  there  are  difficulties — incomprehensible 
in  England,  where  between  the  squire  and  his  farm- 
laborer  is  a  smooth  succession  of  several  ranks,  each 
melting  into  the  other,  and  continually  meeting  on  mu- 
tual ground  of  help  and  kindliness.  Education,  too,  is 
there  a  not  impossible  breaker  of  barriers.  Sometimes 
the  laborer's  daughter  becomes  nurse  or  lady's  maid  at 
the  hall,  and  the  blacksmith's  clever  son  has  ere  now  been 
helped  to  school  and  college  by  the  squire ;  and  even  come 
to  sit  at  the  squire's  table.  But  such  things  are  impos- 
sible, or  held  to  be  impossible,  in  Ireland.  What  bond 
of  union  could  there  be,  for  instance,  between  this  poor 
woman  I  met  and  Mrs.  Adair  of  Glen  Yeagh,  with  her 
five  hundred  miles  of  deer-park  pahngs,  and  her  twenty 
thousand  pounds  spent  in  improvements  at  the  castle? 
Did  they  meet — which  they  are  never  hkely  to  do — they 


G  WEED  ORE.  17^ 

would  regard  one  another,  and  judge  one  another,  hke 
two  beings  out  of  different  spheres,  who  scarcely  owned 
a  common  humanity. 

The  gulf  between  upper  and  lower  classes — of  middle 
class  there  is  almost  none — is  in  Ireland  enormous.  The 
lower  class  can  never  bridge  it.  Will  the  upper  class 
cross  it  to  them?  And  how? — God  only  knows.  Cer- 
tainly demagogues  do  not  know.  Nor  do  many  of  the 
"  gentry "  of  the  last  generation — ^who  preserve  the  fatal 
traditions  of  the  French  aristocracy  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, and  scarcely  feel  as  if  the  common  people  were  of 
the  same  flesh  and  blood  as  themselves.  The  only  hope 
seems  to  be  in  the  uprising  of  a  new  generation,  with 
wider  eyes  and  calmer  judgment,  who  can  hold  out  a 
helping  hand  to  either  side,  teaching  the  one  that 

"  The  old  order  changeth,  giving  place  to  the  new," 

and  preaching  to  the  other  that  justice  between  man  and 
man  is  due  as  much  to  the  higher  as  to  the  lower  stm- 
tum  of  society,  and  that  the  best  of  self-government 
consists  in  ruling  one's  self.  There  may  then  be  some 
hope  of  Ireland's  gaining  that  true  freedom  which  is 
only  attainable  by  a  prudent,  peaceful,  and  law-abiding 
race. 

September  2. — A  day  of  exclusively  private  life.  Being 
such,  I  long  considered  whether  I  should  not  pass  it 
over  entirely.  And  yet  this  would  be  so  gi'eat  a  suppres- 
sid  ven\  that  I  have  decided  on  the  contrary.     I  shall  give 


172  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

no  names,  but  the  facts  only ;  which  are,  many  of  them, 
already  public  property. 

There  are  landlords  and  landlords.  No  doubt  Ireland 
has  suffered  cruelly  from  the  worst  type  of  that  order,  who, 
generation  after  generation,  lived  recklessly,  ruinously,  in 
their  Castle  Rackrents,  till  their  impoverished  descendants 
of  to-day,  with  the  same  extravagant  tastes,  the  same  con- 
temptible pride,  ashamed  of  economy  though  not  of  debt, 
have  found  it  impossible  to  maintain  "  the  family "  in  the 
only  style  which  they  consider  its  due.  They  therefore  run 
away  from  what  they  dare  not  face;  become  permanent 
absentees,  and  spend  in  England  or  abroad  the  money  they 
get  out  of  the  estate ;  keeping  up  the  credit  of  owning 
property,  but  shirking  alike  its  duties  and  responsibihties. 
Such  landlords — and  the  Encumbered  Estates  Court  has 
long  proved  how  many  there  are — spendthrift  "  gentlemen," 
who  have  over -built,  over -eaten,  over -drunk  themselves, 
and  then  racked  their  tenants  to  supply  their  own  extrava- 
gances, have  been  the  curse  of  Ireland.  They  deserve  no 
mercy,  only  strict  justice. 

But  there  is  another  class  who  deserve  justice  also,  and 
do  not  always  get  it,  being  included  in  the  common  howl 
against  "  landlordism,"  which  is  now  sowing  in  Ireland  all 
the  seeds  of  civil  war — I  mean  the  "good  old  Irish  gen 
tleman"  who  has  lived  on  his  estate,  as  his  fathers  lived 
before  him,  spent  all  his  money  there,  done  his  best  for 
his  tenant^,  exacted  from  them  no  more  than  his  due,  and 
shown  an  example  of  thrift,  industry,  kindliness,  and  char- 
ity, which  if  they  did  not  imitate,  it  was  their  fault,  not 


QWEEDORE.  173 

his.  Such  landlords  do  exist;  but  with  the  usual  pas- 
sionate impulsiveness  of  the  Celtic  race,  they  are  over- 
looked— even  as  the  cool-headed  but  prejudiced  Saxon 
overlooks  the  fact  that  every  tenant  in  Ireland  does  not 
go  about  armed  with  a  gun,  and,  generally  speaking, 
has  not  the  slightest  wish  to  shoot  his  landlord,  unless 
coerced  into  so  doing. 

The  landlord  with  whom  we  spent  this  day  would 
have  smiled  at  any  such  idea!  The  instant  we  entered 
his  gates,  after  a  drive  of  many  miles  over  moor  and  bog, 
we  saw  that  it  was  not  a  Castle  Rackrent.  Nor,  indeed, 
a  castle  at  all,  but  a  comfortable  modem  house,  led  to 
by  a  neatly-kept  drive,  through  a  wood  where  the  large 
primrose  leaves  showed  what  a  blaze  of  yellow  must  be 
there  in  spring.  Across  the  lawn  the  ivy-covered  ruins  of 
the  ancient  house  impUed  a  family  home  of  generations, 
as  it  had  been,  ever  since  the  days  of  Charles  I. ;  the 
present  owner,  who  came  early  into  his  property,  having 
lived  on  it,  man  and  boy,  for  nearly  seventy  years. 

He  was  really  a  picture,  as  he  came  out  to  welcome 
us  at  his  own  door.  Tall,  white-haired,  with  a  fine, 
benevolent  face,  and  the  stately  manner  of  the  old  school 
of  Irish  gentlemen,  which,  alas !  sometimes  covers  much 
unworthiness,  but  when,  as  now,  aUied  to  intrinsic  worth, 
is,  I  think,  unapproachable  in  its  charm.  His  sons,  two 
out  in  the  world  and  one  with  him  here,  were  not  unlike 
him ;  and  his  daughter  and  daughter-in-law  were  of  the 
best  type  of  kindly,  cultivated  gentlewomen  common  to 
all  countries. 


174  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

Here,  year  after  year,  generation  after  generation,  the 
family  has  lived,  as  all  such  families  might  do,  and  ought 
to  do ;  making  in  this  distant  spot  a  centre  of  civiliza- 
tion, from  vi'^hich  to  radiate  benefits,  mental,  moral,  and 
physical — like  the  "httle  candle"  of  Shakespeare,  which 
"throws  its  beams"  so  far:  becoming,  as  every  great 
house  ought  to  be,  a  hght  to  all  the  neighborhood  round. 
Which,  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  is  the  case  here ; 
though  of  this  landlord,  as  of  many  others,  there  have 
been  bitter  things  said;  for  class-prejudice  runs  as  ram- 
pant in  the  under  as  in  the  upper  stratum  of  society — 
worse,  perhaps,  since  narrow  education  breeds  narrow 
judgment. 

"  My  father  has  had  a  deal  to  go  through,"  said  to  me 
one  of  the  sons  —  he  himself  was  silent.  "Some  of  the 
allegations  against  him  were  so  utterly  untrue  that  I  had 
to  rise  up  and  say  so,  for  he  never  would  have  defended 
himself.     It  is  astonishing  how  quietly  he  takes  it."     ■ 

"Why  notf  said  the  old  man  with  a  good-humored 
smile.  "  I  do  my  best  for  all  my  people.  Yes,  they  cer- 
tainly boycotted  me,  but  as  I  had  all  '  within  myself,'  as 
the  old  woman  said  of  her  cocks  and  hens,  pigs,  and 
sheep,  it  didn't  harm  me  much.  Fuel  was  the  chief  dif- 
ficulty. My  poor  fellows  told  me  they  dared  not  cut 
turf  for  me,  but  that  I  was  welcome  to  help  myself  out 
of  any  of  their  stacks.  However,  I  sent  for  fifty  loads  of 
coal  from  Derry,  and  got  them  landed  on  the  beach  close 
by;  so  we  were  warm  and  comfortable  all  the  winter." 

In  this  beach,  which  is  most  picturesque,  Hes  imbedded, 


GWEEDORE.  175 

they  told  us,  under  a  great  heap  of  drifted  sand,  the  re- 
mains of  one  of  the  Spanish  Armada  —  the  third  we  had 
heard  of  on  this  coast,  at  the  Giant's  Causeway,  Bunbeg, 
and  here.  I  said  this,  suggesting  that  all  the  three  had 
originated  in  one,  but  it  was  not  so.  Our  host's  daughter 
remembered,  as  a  httle  girl,  hearing  of  a  great  storm  which 
had  swept  away  the  sand  and  disclosed  part  of  a  brass 
cannon.  She  begged  her  father  to  have  it  dug  out,  but 
the  next  night  the  storm  came  on  afresh,  and  drifted  back 
the  sand,  so  that  all  trace  of  it  was  lost. 

"  But  does  nobody  care  to  search  for  it  f  I  asked,  as 
often  before,  and  received  the  usual  reply. 

"  Oh,  we  are  not  archaeological  in  Ireland.  My  father 
has  collected  these  " — showing  me  a  cabinet  full  of  ancient 
rings  and  brooches,  pins  and  bodkins,  flint  arrow-heads 
and  mediaeval  spurs.  "  They  were  all  found  on  the  beach 
or  in  the  bog." 

"  The  bog  we  passed  on  our  way,  with  great  black 
roots  of  trees  sticking  up  every  few  yards  f 

"  The  same.  These  are  the  remains  of  a  j)rimeval 
forest,  ages  before  it  was  converted  into  bog.  But  the 
bog  preserves  everything.  We  found  in  it  this,  and  tliis" 
—  showing  me  bronze  ornaments  and  implements,  of  use 
unknown.  "  My  father  has  everything  brought  at  once' 
to  him,  and  he  rewards  the  finder.  No  fear  here  of  such 
barbarisms  as  that  of  the  gentleman  who,  picking  up  an 
ancient  gold  ring,  had  it  made  into  his  bride's  wedding- 
ring,  '  to  save  expense.' " 

"  Or,"  added  some  one,  "  the  still  more  vandalish  Gal- 


176  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

way  story,  of  the  man  who  found  in  the  bog  what  seemed 
a  circlet  of  old  iron ;  his  children  broke  it,  and  it  was 
yellow  inside.  So  a  pedler  passing  by  bought  it  for  a 
pound.  Some  gentleman  hearing  this,  went  off  to  Dubhn 
after  the  pedler,  but  found  it  had  just  gone  into  the  melt- 
ing-pot.    It  was  the  crown  of  an  old  Irish  king." 

With  such  talk  as  this  we  whiled  away  the  pleasant 
afternoon,  partlj^  in  the  house  and  partly  in  the  garden — 
the  old  man's  special  delight.  It  was  on  the  same  pat- 
tern as  the  Antrim  gardens,  and  though  so  near  the 
sea,  equally  luxuriant.  Thinking  of  the  wretched  "  hold- 
ings "  we  had  passed  on  the  moor,  it  seemed  a  perfect 
paradise. 

"  What  a  deal  of  labor  you  must  employ  here,"  I  said ; 
"  and  what  an  advantage  it  must  be  to  your  small  tenants 
to  earn  a  regular  weekly  wage  as  your  under -gardeners 
and  such  like,  instead  of  starving  on  their  acre,  or  half- 
acre,  of  reclaimed  bog  land." 

The  master  smiled  rather  mournfully.  "  They  don't 
think  so.  They  would  rather  starve.  It  is  not  easy  to 
get  them  to  work  at  anything  regularly;  they  think  they 
are  doing  me  a  favor,  and  would  prefer  to  dig  their  own 
potatoes,  and  then  idle  away  as  they  choose  the  rest  of 
their  time.  It  looks  more  independent.  You  see  the 
Irish  landlord  has  his  difficulties — more  than  the  English 
landlord,  a  good  deal.  But  we'U  tide  through.  Perhaps 
the  next  generation  may  succeed  in  teaching  the  Irish 
peasant  how  to  work — if  our  estates  are  not  raffled  away 
from  us  by  that  time." 


QWEEDORE.  177 

I  had  heard  in  Antrim  of  this  raffling — indeed,  I  met 
a  lady  who  had  seen  some  of  the  tickets,  sold  for  half  a 
crown  by  some  of  the  Nationalist  leaders.  In  the  grand 
uprising  and  demolition  of  property  which  they  foretell, 
whoever  owns  a  ticket  with  the  name  of  an  estate  on  it 
is  to  become  the  lucky  possessor  thereof !  So  much  of  an 
open  secret  is  this  that  some  of  the  landlords  actually 
know  the  names  of  their  would-be  successors ! 

"  Let  us  hope  it  will  never  come  to  pass,"  said  this 
landlord,  quietly.  "  Meantime  I  shall  go  on,  as  my  fathers 
did  before  me,  doing  our  very  best  for  the  place,  and  for 
my  people,  whether  they  understand  it  or  not.  My  son, 
if  he  comes  after  me,  will  do  the  same." 

Then  we  changed  the  subject,  and  stood  admiring  the 
fine  sea-view,  in  which  the  principal  object  was  Toiy  Isl- 
and— much  spoken  of  in  newspapers  some  httle  time  ago, 
as  the  scene  of  the  sad  wreck  of  the  Wasp. 

Tory  Island  is  three  miles  long  by  half  a  mile  broad. 
That  it  was  long  ago  colonized  and  inhabited,  is  proved 
by  the  many  remains  of  ancient  buildings,  churches,  and 
crosses  which  he  half -buried  in  sand.  There  is  also  a 
curious  Round  Tower.  Seaward,  it  opposes  to  the  At- 
lantic a  hne  of  impregnable  rocks,  but  landward  it  slopes 
down  in  green  pastures.  Its  inhabitants  are  a  curious 
race,  half-fishermen,  haK-farmers,  well-to-do  and  veiy  in- 
dependent. They  are  said  to  feed  their  cattle  upon  fish, 
and  to  tether  their  turbots  by  the  tail  in  salt-water  pools 
till  the  Deny  and  SUgo  boats  come  to  buy.  Short  as 
the  passage  is,  sometimes  the  sea  is  so  wild  that  for 
12 


178  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

weeks  together  the  Tory- Islanders  cannot  cross  to  the 
mainland;  and  in  former  times,  before  there  was  a  chapel 
or  church  there,  eager  lovers  used,  in  bad  weather,  to  re- 
sort to  a  novel  way  of  getting  married.  Two  fires  were 
lit  on  the  island  and  on  the  opposite  shore — at  one  stood 
the  happy  couple,  at  another  the  priest ;  when  the  fire 
was  put  out,  it  was  a  signal  that  the  ceremony  was  over 
and  the  knot  safely  tied. 

We  were  told  also  of  wonderful  sea-caves,  so  high  that 
boats  can  easily  sail  in  or  out  of  them ;  of  McSwine's 
Grun  —  a  hole  in  a  rock,  through  which  the  waves  burst 
wdth  a  loud  report,  and  of  a  little  hill  or  mound,  in  which 
hes  buried  one  Clogher  Neilly,  who  murdered  a  "  King  of 
Tory  Island" — whosoever  that  notable  monarch  might  be 
— ^when  he  came  to  have  his  horse  shod.  The  said  Neilly 
was,  I  beheve,  hanged  here,  leaving  behind  him  a  prophecy 
that  while  one  stone  of  this  mound  remains,  no  other  man 
wiU  ever  be  hanged  in  Donegal.  Let  us  hope  it  —  unless 
he  deserves  hanging. 

It  was  a  long  drive  back,  with  the  sunset  light  shining 
on  the  line  of  hills  on  our  left  hand ;  Muckish,  with  its 
long  "  pig's  back,"  from  which  it  takes  its  name ;  Erigal 
and  Little  Erigal,  which  look  Hke  mother  and  daughter, 
being  so  similar  in  shape.  Nearing  Grweedore,  a  mass  of 
black  clouds  rose  up,  making  grand  effects,  but  threaten- 
ing one  of  those  sudden  deluges  which  make  this  chmate 
so  interesting,  and  so  inconvenient. 

However,  it  came  not.  We  reached  Gweedore  un- 
drenched,  and  found  there   our   artist,  who  had  arrived 


G  WEED  ORE.  179 

in  the  mail-car  from  Falcarragh  and  Dunfanaghy — where 
he  had  been  obhged  to  rough  it  to  an  extent  which  he 
assured  us  made  the  magnificent  scenery  round  about  un- 
attainable to  us  womenkind.  We  had  to  content  ourselves 
with  seeing  what  we  could  see  in  comfort.  But  we  had 
had  another  "  white  day  " — and  were  thankful. 

September  3d. — I  think  it  rained  all  night — there  are 
seldom  twenty -four  hours  in  Ireland  when  it  does  not 
rain ;  but  the  morning  was  lovely  While  our  artist  went 
sketching,  we  decided  to  go  a -fishing  up  the  chain  of 
lakes,  at  the  head  of  which  was  the  Marble  Church  — 
built  by  a  devoted  Protestant,  and  to  be  consecrated  in 
a  few  days  —  and  the  Poison  Glen ;  so  called  from  its 
total  absence  of  vegetation,  and,  we  were  warned,  the 
perpetual  presence  of  whole  aimies  of  midges. 

Nevertheless  we  started  courageously.  The  day  was 
hot  and  blindingly  bright,  and  the  fishes  would  not  bite, 
though  six  intelhgent  human  beings  devoted  themselves 
to  their  capture  for  eight  mortal  hours.  One  small  trout, 
about  six  inches  long,  was  their  only  victim,  and  after 
lying  for  half  an  hour  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  it  was 
decided  that  being  "  young  and  foolish "  he  should  be  let 
go.  They  resuscitated  him  in  a  pannikin,  and  then  put 
him  back  into  the  lough,  when  he  feebly  swam  away  —  I 
hope  to  give  to  his  brethi*en  a  warning,  for  we  never  had 
a  bite  afterwards. 

But  the  fishermen — and  fishei'women — seemed  to  enjoy 
themselves  just  the  same.     Mile  after  mile  we  floated  over 


180  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

the  clear,  shallow  water  —  often  so  shallow  that  the  boat- 
men had  to  step  out  into  it,  and  fairly  pull  and  push  the 
boat  along.  Getting  wet  seemed,  this  broiling  hot  day, 
rather  a  treat  than  not.  The  fishers  fished  calmly  on  — 
and  the  one  who  did  not  relish  that  occupation,  and  used 
to  sing  a  good  deal  in  boats,  years  upon  years  ago,  broke 
out  into  "  Grramachree  Molly"  and  "  The  Pretty  Girl  Milk- 
ing her  Cow."  At  which  the  two  Irishmen  pricked  up 
their  ears,  remarking,  politely,  that  "  The  ould  folks  did 
betther  nor  the  young  sometimes,"  and  hinting  that  Paddy 
himself  was  "  a  fine  singer  intirely." 

Of  course  we  begged  for  Paddy's  song,  and  listened 
to  it  conscientiously  for  at  least  half  an  hour.  It  lasted 
thus  long,  and  was  sung  with  a  solemn  countenance,  in  a 
sustained  minor  monotone,  interspersed  by  gutturals  and 
an  occasional  sound  like  a  suppressed  sneeze.  We  caught 
no  particular  tune  in  it,  but  no  doubt  it  had  one  —  and 
being  in  Irish,  the  words  were  a  blank  to  us.  Paddy 
afterwards  explained  that  they  were  about  "  a  young 
lady "  whom  a  youth  met  "  in  the  wilderness,"  married 
and  "  tuk  home,"  when  his  relations,  considering  the 
family  already  too  large,  put  her  into  a  boat,  rowed  her 
out  to  sea,  and  then  and  there  "dhrownded"  her.  Poor 
young  lady ! 

His  song  done,  Paddy  joined  his  practical  energies  to 
those  of  the  giUie — who  seemed  as  strong  as  Hercules — 
in  puUing  the  boat  under  a  bridge,  through  the  narrow 
channel  which  divided  the  two  loughs.  Then  we  landed, 
ate  our  lunch,  and  the  rest  went  to  see  a  chapel  not  far 


G  WEED  ORE.  181 

off,  while  I  distributed  the  remains  of  our  food  between 
the  two  men  and  a  third,  a  cripple  with  an  extremely  in- 
telUgent  face,  who  joined  us. 

" He  can't  work,"  Paddy  explained  in  a  whisper ;  "so 
he  makes  flies  for  the  gentlefolks  at  the  hotel.  It's  but 
a  poor  living." 

Nevertheless  the  man  never  begged,  nor  did  they  for 
him.  I  heard  the  three  talking  and  laughing  together, 
then  the  cripple  left,  and  the  other  two  men  came  up  to 
me  to  see  if  I  was  "  comfortable."  Somehow  we  fell  into 
a  long  talk  —  which  I  wish  I  could  give,  for  it  gave  me 
the  clearest  insight  I  had  yet  had  into  the  mind  of  the 
average  Irish  peasant. 

"  Ye  see,  ma'am,"  said  Paddy  at  last,  or  the  gillie,  I 
forget  which,  but  they  both  echoed  each  other ;  "  it  just 
comes  to  this.  Here's  my  bit  of  land" — drawing  the  out- 
line of  it  on  the  sandy  bank  with  his  stick.  "  My  father, 
an'  his  father  before  him,  paid  a  pound  a  year  rent  for 
it — built  the  cottage,  cut  the  turf,  and  made  the  bog  into 
good  gi'ound — which  takes  a  while  to  do.  Then  the  land- 
lord raises  my  rent  to  two  pounds  —  and  three  pounds. 
An'  I  can't  pay ;  for  potatoes  and  oats  —  oats  and  pota- 
toes— ^vithout  any  change  of  crops,  makes  the  land  poor. 
And  times  is  bad,  and  stock  low.  A  cow  my  father  got 
eight  pound  for,  I  couldn't  sell  this  year  for  four  pound. 
Everything's  fallen  —  except  the  rent.  If  the  landlord 
would  wait  —  now  some  landlords  have  waited,  and  got 
their  rents,  in  many  parts  of  Donegal  —  but  some  won't 
wait,  and  then — what's  to  be  done  f 


182  AN  UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

Alas !  wiser  folk  than  either  they  or  I  would  find  it 
difficult  to  answer  that  question. 

"But  you  don't  hate  your  landlord  —  even  though  he 
may  be  a  Protestant?"  For  the  most  part  of  the  large 
land-owners  in  Ireland,  and  especially  in  this  part  of  Ire- 
land, are  Protestant  —  and  I  knew  the  two  men  were 
Cathohcs,  as  I  had  seen  Paddy  take  off  his  hat  at  the 
sound  of  the  Angelus.  "  You  would  not  harm  him  ?  You 
wouldn't  wish  ill  to  me  either  —  even  though  I  am  a 
Protestant  f 

"  Not  a  hit  of  it,  ma'am,"  returned  Paddy,  with  a  laugh. 
And  then  the  gillie  — a  much  younger  and  shrewder  man, 
began,  and  preached,  in  his  simple  fashion,  one  of  the 
best  sermons  on  charity  that  I  had  heard  for  years, 
clinching  his  doctrine  by  texts  out  of  the  Bible — which, 
Cathohc  as  he  was,  he  evidently  had  at  his  fingers'  ends 
• — and  winding  up  by  an  exordium  which,  in  its  homely 
earnestness,  would  have  done  credit  to  any  pulpit. 

"  Then  you  don't  want  to  fight  England  f  I  said. 

"  No,  we'll  gain  nothing  by  fighting.  There's  a  gentle- 
man named  Pamell,  he  says  we'll  soon  get  everything  we 
want.  He  has  got  a  lot  of  money,  they  say,  but  I  don't 
know  that  he  has  got  anything  else.  If  times  would  mend 
the  landlords  would  be  paid  their  rents." 

"  An'  Catholics  and  Protestants  would  hve  peaceably  to- 
gether," added  Paddy,  who  had  listened  to  his  companion 
with  much  respect.  "  But  we'd  betther  start  now,  ma'am, 
if  ye're  to  see  the  Marble  Church  and  the  Poison  Glen." 

We  did  see  both — though  with  difficulty,  and  only  by 


THE  roisox  ni.KX. 
(From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Noel  Paton.) 


the  gillie  carrying  each  one  of  us,  Atlas-like,  on  his  strong 
back,  ashore.  At  the  head  of  the  lough  stood  the  pretty 
little  church,  built  by  some  indomitable  Protestant,  we 
heard,  for  a  regular  congregation — of  three  persons !  The 
CathoUcs  had  proposed  to  buy  it,  but  this  was  refused,  and 
the  bishop  was  coming  to  consecrate  it  next  week.  I  hope 
the  future  pastor,  whoever  he  is,  will  preach  sennons  as 
pacific  and  Christian  as  that  of  the  poor,  uncultured  gillie 
whom  I  had  heard  this  day. 

Poison  Glen — which  our  artist  came  and  drew,  sur- 
rounded by  an  army  of  midges,  and  a  few  human  beings, 


184  AN    UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

who  eyed  Mm  with  great  suspicion,  seeming  to  think  he 
had  something  to  do  with  the  pohce — is  exceedingly  fine. 
However,  it  was  such  stiff  walking  that  we  did  not  pene- 
trate far.  Afterwards,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  row 
home;  which  we  did  in  a  gorgeous  sunset,  that  transfig- 
ured Erigal  into  a  mountain  of  hght.  On  its  very  top  we 
saw  two  black  figures  emulating  our  adventurous  cHmbers 
of  two  nights  before — of  whom,  I  should  add,  that,  with 
one  of  the  frequent  coincidences  of  travel,  as  soon  as  they 
told  us  their  names,  we  found  we  knew  their  family  quite 
well,  as  they  knew  us.  They  went  on  to  Carrick;  and 
their  vacant  places  were  soon  filled  up  at  the.  friendly 
hotel-table.  But  I  think  they  will  not  soon  forget  Grwee- 
dore. 

Nor  shall  we  forget  the  long,  quiet,  lazy  day  when  we  did 
nothing,  only,  like  the  apostles,  and  good  old  Izaac  Walton, 
"  went  a-fishing." 


PART  YI. 

FROM  G  WEED  ORE  TO    CARRICK. 

SEPTEMBER  4th.— Another  Saturday  already!  Our 
days  here  were  numbered. 

I  hardly  know  in  what  consists  the  charm  of  Gweedore. 
It  is  scarcely  picturesque,  in  an  artistic  sense ;  has  no 
gloomy  glens  or  tumbhng  streams;  and  its  one  mountain 
— Erigal — stands  up  straight  as  a  sugar-loaf  or  a  beehive 
from  the  surrounding  moor.  But  a  charm  it  has,  which 
we  all  of  us  felt,  and  sighed  to  think  how  soon  we  must 
leave  this  happy  valley,  full  of  sunshine  and  sweet  air ; 
which  has,  to  hard  workers,  the  same  fehcitous  combina- 
tion as  the  Happy  Valley  of  "  Rasselas  " — that  you  can  get 
at  nobody,  and  nobody  can  get  at  you.  At  least,  not  with- 
out considerable  difficulty. 

Which  makes  its  inhabitants,  permanent  or  temporary, 
all  the  more  sociable  and  kindly.  Our  landlord  took  as 
much  interest  in  our  proceedings  as  if  we  had  belonged  to 
him.  And  the  owner  of  the  salmon  fishery,  a  gentleman 
quite  unknown  to  us,  who  had  before  offered  us  his  gilUe, 
now  benignly  insisted  on  taking  us  in  a  boat  on  a  day's 


186  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

picnic  to  one  of  the  several  islands  which  lie  in  the  bay 
opposite  Bnnbeg. 

So  off  we  started  under  his  charge — a  party  of  five — 
minus  our  artist,  who  preferred  duty,  midges,  and  the 
Poison  Glen — which  he  afterwards  sincerely  regretted ;  for 
this  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  days  in  all  our  tour.  Mer- 
rily we  drove  to  Bunbeg,  stopping  on  the  way  to  see  the 
salmon-leap,  which  by  the  energy  of  our  friend  has  been 
utilized  for  one  of  the  few  industries  that  Donegal  can 
boast  —  salmon  -  fishing.  Reaching  the  quay,  we  found 
waiting,  with  the  same  grave,  taciturn,  but  kindly  air,  our 
guide  of  two  days  before  —  who  looked  equally  surprised 
to  see  his  unknown  guests.  We  all  greeted  one  another 
cordially. 

"  So  you  know  my  friend  John  Williams — manager  of 
my  fisheries,  magistrates'  clerk  at  Bunbeg,  and  one  of  the 
best  fellows  going  %  Well  done,  John.  I  see  you've  got  us 
the  Jessie — a  capital  boat  she  is.  We'll  have  a  splendid 
sail." 

It  was  splendid.  What  a  fascination — to  good  sailors — 
there  must  be  in  yachting;  not  your  commonplace  but 
convenient  steam  yacht,  but  a  boat  with  sails ;  skimming 
over  the  water  like  a  bird,  first  dipping  on  one  side  and 
then  on  the  other,  and  again  scudding,  arrow-like,  straight 
before  the  wind.  The  motion  was  so  steady  as  well  as  de- 
hghtful  that  even  we  land-lubbers  thoroughly  enjoyed  it ; 
and  wished,  granted  the  same  conditions,  that  we  could 
have  sailed  on  and  on — say  to  the  North  Pole ! 

But  we  didn't.     After  a  few  tacks  we  ghded  safely  into 


FROM  G  WE  ED  ORE  TO    CARRICK.  187 

a  narrow  channel  between  the  islands  of  Gola  and  Umphin; 
on  the  latter  of  which  we  landed. 

One  can  easily  understand  the  superstitious  feehng 
which  has  left,  on  our  northern  coasts  especially,  so  many 
"  holy "  islands,  chosen  as  hermitages,  monasteries,  or 
burial-places.  This  httle  rocky  dot  in  the  midst  of  the 
wild  sea,  so  small  that  in  ten  minutes  you  could  walk  over 
it  from  end  to  end — uninhabited,  except  by  sea-birds,  and 
without  a  trace  of  any  human  visitant — was  a  most  attrac- 
tive place.  Seaward  the  rocks  seemed  to  rise  to  a  consid- 
erable height,  but  towards  the  land  they  sloped  down  in 
little  dells  covered  with  the  richest  grass,  and  which  in 
spring  must  be  full  of  flowers.  Westward,  there  was  an 
ascent  across  the  top  of  a  natural  archway  or  bridge,  from 
which  you  looked  down  —  a  dizzy  depth  —  at  the  waves 
which  came  tumbhng  in  and  recoiUng ;  beating  their  way 
as  they  had  beaten  it  for  uncounted  centuries  through  the 
hard  rock.  A  place  which  no  one  who  loved,  or  had  ever 
loved,  a  scramble  could  resist.  It  was  hke  the  days  of  one's 
youth,  to  stand  on  this  slender  bridge  and  watch  the  boil- 
ing waters  below,  and  then  look  over  to  the  opposite  island 
of  Gola,  and  to  the  glittering  sea  beyond.  And  rather  hard 
it  was  to  descend  by  the  green  slope  aforesaid,  in  the-  midst 
of  which  bubbled  out  a  tiny  spring  —  where  on  earth  can 
this  fresh  water  on  small  rock-islands  come  from? — and 
condescend  to  a  comfortable,  ordinaiy  lunch,  in  fi'ont  of 
that  lovely  picture  framed  by  the  hand  of  Nature. 

John  Williams,  who  with  two  other  men  had  been  left 
to  beach  the  boat,  soon  joined  us,  and  gave  us  all  the 


188  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

information  he  could  about  the  island,  which  was  little 
enough,  for  Umphin,  like  Skull  Island,  seems  to  be  with- 
out a  history.  But  he  was  very  strong  on  the  subject  of 
the  Spanish  ship,  again  pointing  out  the  place  where  he 
was  certain  she  lay,  since  at  low  water  she  was  so  near  the 
surface  that  the  fishermen  declared  they  could  have  stood 
upon  her  hull !  and  the  rusty  anchor  had  been  seen,  not 
only  by  himself,  but  by  an  old  woman  still  living  at  Bun- 
beg. 

Nothing  could  shake  his  testimony  on  this  point,  but 
we  could  get  no  more  out  of  him  as  to  Skull  Island.  He 
told  us  "  a  young  gentleman  "  had  been  there  sketching  it, 
and  had  found  "  the  person,"  as  he  persisted  in  calling  our 
skeleton.  He  did  not  tell  us  what  the  young  gentleman 
(our  artist)  had  told  us  already — that  John  Williams  had 
stood  gravely  by  and  let  it  be  found,  without  hinting  that 
it  had  been  dug  up  and  carefully  reburied  only  the  day  be- 
fore !  Probably  other  tourists  may  go  through  the  same 
performance  —  unless  some  of  them  may  pause  lest  the 
ghost  that  was  once  a  living  man  should  follow  them  with 
Shakespeare's  malediction, 

"  Curst  be  be  tbat  moves  my  bones." 

John  Williams's  individuality  interested  me  much.  He 
was,  he  had  told  me,  of  Welsh  parentage,  born  on  Rathhn 
Island.  He  had  lived  all  his  life  in  these  parts,  where,  be- 
ing a  Protestant  and  a  magistrates'  clerk,  he  was  a  sort  of 
representative  of  the  "law  and  order"  side.  Consequently 
he  had  his  enemies — especially  among  poachers.     But  the 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE  TO    CARRICK.  189 

courage  and  daring  of  the  man,  his  employer  told  me,  were 
wonderful.  He  was  literally  afraid  of  nothing.  In  his 
duty  as  manager  of  the  salmon-fishing  he  often  had  to  run 
great  risks.  Once,  seeing  some  poachers  throwing  a  net 
across  the  stream,  he  jumped  right  into  it  and  allowed  him- 
self to  be  dragged  ashore — when  he  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  six  men.  But  they  were  unarmed,  and  he  had 
his  revolver.  He  pointed  it  at  them  and  they  ran  away. 
John  did  not  follow  them,  having  no  wish  to  harm  them, 
but  contented  himself  with  marching  off  with  the  net  on 
his  shoulder — which,  being  a  costly  thing,  he  knew  would 
effectually  prevent  more  poaching  for  many  a  day. 

Though  well  on  in  hfe,  his  physical  strength  and  activi- 
ty are  unabated.  Missing  him  for  a  minute  or  two  from 
the  conversation,  I  suddenly  saw  him  half-way  up  the  rock, 
towards  the  archway,  chmbing  with  a  rapidity  and  seeming 
recklessness  that  made  me  shiver. 

"  Oh,  he  has  gone  after  that  plant  you  noticed.  Don't 
trouble  yourself  about  him,  he  is  as  sure-footed  as  a  moun- 
tain goat — all  our  men  are.  They  scale  the  rocks  as  boys 
after  sea-birds'  eggs.  Bravo,  John !"  as  he  descended  with 
the  plant  in  his  hand — one  I  had  never  seen  before.  "  This 
lady  thought  you  were  kilhng  yourself.  That  was  a  steep 
chmb  though.     You're  a  young  man  still,  I  see." 

John  smiled,  and  accepted  my  thanks  with  great  indif- 
ference. But  I  determined  never  again  to  notice  curious 
plants  that  gi'ow  on  precipices. 

After  this  —  safely  guided  —  we  did  a  deal  of  climbing 
ourselves.    Ascending  to  the  highest  point  in  the  Uttle 


190  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

island,  and  finding  there  a  ledge  of  rock,  like  a  sofa,  only  a 
trifle  harder,  we  all  sat  down  to  contemplate  the  sea- view, 
only  ending  with  the  horizon.  There  is  always  something 
solemn  in  the  bright  blankness  of  a  sea  without  ships.  We 
were  involuntarily 

"  Silent  as  on  a  peak  in  Darien," 

until  John  Williams,  who  had  seated  himself  a  little  way 
off,  mth  his  usual  air  of  respectful  independence,  pointed 
out  two  or  three  little  black  dots  tossing  about  on  the 
water. 

"  Look,  sir,  there  are  the  curraghs !  The  Sligo  steamer 
will  be  round  shortly." 

And  then  we  heard  about  these  curraghs — boats  of 
canvas  stretched  over  wicker,  something  like  the  leather- 
covered  coracles  of  the  ancient  Britons — which  are  used 
for  fishing,  and  for  carrying  fish  to  and  from  the  steam- 
boats that  sail  periodically,  at  a  safe  distance,  round  this 
dangerous  coast.  Soon  w^e  perceived  the  slender  line  of 
smoke  which  indicated  that  the  Sligo  steamer  was  coming 
round  the  point — of  Owey  Island,  I  think  they  said — or 
the  end  of  the  Isles  of  Arran,  which  have  been  so  much 
written  about  in  the  newspapers,  and  where  I  should 
much  have  liked  to  go,  but  it  would  have  been  an  expe- 
dition perfectly  impracticable. 

What  a  strange,  wild  scene  it  was !  We,  sitting  aloft 
on  this  sohtary  place,  and  the  cluster  of  boats  rocking 
below,  waiting  for  the  little  steamer  that  was  their  one 
link  of  commerce  and  civihzation.     As  if  in  contrast  to 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE  TO    CARRICK.  191 

it  all,  the  gentlemen  proposed  that  we  should  fancy  our- 
selves on  the  grand  stand  at  the  Derhy,  and  have  a  sweep- 
stake— the  prize  heing  a  packet  of  chocolate — to  be  won 
by  whoever  guessed  correctly  the  time  when  the  steamer 
would  reach  a  certain  point  nearest  to  us.  Great  laugh- 
ter and  joking  there  was,  when  the  Barbarous  Scot,  who 
might  be  "  Old  Time  "  himself  in  his  remorseless  accuracy 
and  punctuality,  sat,  watch  in  hand,  proclaiming  not  only 
minutes,  but  seconds,  as  the  little  vessel  steamed  on. 

"  She  has  stopped !  No !  Yes,  she  has — ^for  the  boats 
are  all  gathering  round  her.     Now — who  has  won?" 

I  think  it  was  the  Wild  Irish  Grirl,  who  was  very  proud 
of  her  luck.  We  laughed  a  good  deal,  and  ate  the  choc- 
olate, and  examined  the  steamer  with  a  spyglass;  won- 
dering much  if  the  crew  were  examining  us,  and  what 
they  thought  of  the  sight — seven  human  beings  sitting, 
like  a  row  of  sea-gulls,  on  the  topmost  rock  of  this  unin- 
habited island! 

Very  childish  it  all  was,  and  yet  very  pleasant.  Years 
hence,  when  the  young  folks  are  grown  old,  and  the  old 
folks — well !  never  mind  that !  it  may  be  pleasant  still  to 
remember  that  lonely  peak  of  Umphin  Island  and  the 
little  SUgo  steamer  creeping  silently  across  the  empty  sea. 

We  sailed  back,  or  rather  rowed ;  for  the  wind  had  gone 
down  and  we  might  otherwise  have  been  hours  in  getting 
home — sailed  through  a  very  fine  sunset  glow,  against 
which  the  ridges  of  rocks,  fringed  \Nith  a  hue  of  solemn- 
looking  sea-birds,  were  sharply  defined.  Also  another 
island,  where  were  the  remains  of  a  gallows  upon  which 


192  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

an  Irish  king  is  said  to  have  been  hanged;  nobody  seems 
to  have  died  comfortably  in  his  bed  in  those  wild  days. 
Then  we  skirted  the  outside  edge  of  Skull  Island,  where 
a  small  boy  sat  on  a  ledge  fishing,  at  the  imminent  risk 
of  his  hfe. 

"But  they  will  do  it,"  said  John,  calmly — he  had  boys 
of  his  own.  "  Very  hkely  he  can  swim  like  a  fish — they 
aU  can." 

"  Yes — they  are  a  hardy  lot,  and  a  fine  lot,  about 
here,"  said  our  host,  who  was  an  Englishman,  but  had 
grown  famihar  with  the  place  and  the  people,  among 
whom  he  spent  so  many  months — and  so  much  money — 
yearly.  He  seemed  popular  too.  There  cannot  be  a 
greater  mistake  than  to  suppose  the  native  Irish  hate  the 
English.  Theoretically  —  and  in  the  aggregate  —  perhaps 
they  do,  when  hatred  is  forced  upon  them;  but  individu- 
ally, and  when  the  individual  behaves  himself  as  "  a  man 
and  a  brother,"  he  will  almost  always  find  himself  received 
.as  such.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  it  must  be  a  tender  hand  as 
well  as  a  strong  and  a  firm  one  which  has  any  power 
to  guide  a  race  turbulent  and  impulsive  by  nature,  as 
untrained  as  wild  horses,  and  yet  a  race  equally  noble, 
and  equally  capable  of  being  made  valuable,  instead  of 
dangerous,  to  the  community  at  large. 

Some  time  after,  I  received  a  letter  from  our  kindly 
host  of  this  day,  in  which  he  says :  "I  have  lately  found 
in  the  island  of  Owey  a  much  more  remarkable  place  than 
the  natural  archway  you  saw.  It  is  a  smaU,  nearly  land- 
locked bay,  with  one  entrance  through  an  arch  of  rock. 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE   TO    CARRICK.  193 

then  an  open  channel,  then  a  grand  obeUsk,  a  strange 
natural  imitation  of  Cleopatra's  Needle.  As  nearly  as  our 
rough  calculating  instruments  could  say,  its  height  above 
low  water  is  eighty-six  feet.  I  intend  to  photograph  it, 
and  will  send  you  a  copy." 

Evidently  there  is  still  a  great  deal  to  be  discovered,  by 
enterprising  minds  and  active  bodies — in  and  near  Gwee- 
dore. 

Sunday,  September  5. — Was  a  day  of  perfect  beauty 
and  perfect  rest.  We  drove  to  church  for  many  miles 
across  the  moorland,  through  a  village  or  httle  town,  as 
it  would  be  considered  here,  meeting  group  after  group 
going  to  chapel  in  their  Sunday  best — the  frieze  petticoat, 
the  bright-colored  shawl,  and  generally  another  little  ker- 
chief tied  over  the  head.  The  men  too  were  decently 
clad,  and  the  demeanor  of  all  was  quiet  and  sedate — as 
of  people  who  respect  themselves,  and  reverence  their 
Maker  and  his  day.  Such  a  number  of  them  too— con- 
sidering the  sparse  population.  It  seemed  as  if  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  had  felt  it  a  duty  to  go  to  mass, 
clean  and  tidy,  this  Sunday  morning;  proving  how  enor- 
mous is  the  influence  of  the  Cathohc  clergy,  for  good  as 
well  as  for  evil.  Alas,  that  so  many  of  them  should  mis- 
use it! 

After  a  day  spent  among  friends — a  day  which,  look- 
ing  back  upon  it,   seemed   all   sunshine    and   sweetness, 
freshness  and  flowers,  for  we  were  in  the  garden  most  of 
the  time,  we  saw,  in  returning,  the  same  family  groups,- 
13 


194  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

sitting  by  the  roadside  on  the  moor,  or  chatting  outside 
their  cabin  doors.  They  just  glanced  up  as  we  drove  past 
— nothing  more.  There  was  nothing  of  the  wild  pursuit 
of  tourists  by  child-beggars — and  grown-up  beggars  too — 
and  nothing  of  the  fierce  scowl  at  all  supposed  well-to-do 
people,  which  I  had  been  told  we  should  find  in  this  land 
ripe  for  revolution.  And  though  they  were  as  poor  as 
poor  could  be — a  poverty  which  our  Enghsh  poor  could 
hardly  realize — they  all  looked  respectable;  a  word  which 
imphes  more  than  at  first  appears,  since  a  man  who  is 
worthy  of  respect  must  first  respect  himself.  They  would 
have  been  a  problem  to  many  English  who  pass  rash  and 
harsh  judgments  upon  Ireland. 

And  so  we  watched  the  sun  set  on  a  scene  that  while 
I  write  rises  vividly  before  me,  the  endless  miles  of  moor 
and  bog — we  had  grown  to  think  bog-land  beautiful — the 
long  chain  of  distant  mountains,  dyed  all  colors  in  the 
evejiing  light.     It  was  our  last  evening  at  Gweedore. 

Monday,  September  6. — And  a  very  black  Monday  too. 
At  breakfast-time  the  rain  feU  in  such  torrents  that  we 
thought  we  should  have  to  upset  all  our  plans  and  stay. 
We  looked  outwards  on  the  soaked  garden  and  inwards 
to  the  streaming  courtyard,  then  called  into  council  Paddy 
the  fisherman,  who  gave  the  truly  oracular  opinion,  "  May- 
be, sir,  it'll  rain  all  day,  an'  maybe  it  won't."  Our  kindly 
landlord  sympathized,  but  he  too  was  perplexed,  since  if 
we  did  not  go  this  day  he  could  not  send  us  the  next, 
when  every  horse  and  car  was  requisitioned  for  the  con- 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE  TO    CARRICK.  195 

secration  of  the  Marble  Churcli — the  bishop  being  expected 
here  to-night.  At  last  some  of  us  saw,  or  thought  they 
saw,  a  break  in  the  clouds,  a  lull  in  the  rain,  and  urged 
departure.     So  we  departed. 

I  thought  then — I  think  still — that  it  was  a  pity.  Trav- 
ellers should  always  leave  a  margin  for  weather.  It  would 
have  been  wiser  to  wait  for  a  good  day,  and  then  do  the 
whole  journey  between  eight  in  the  morning  and  eight 
at  night,  which,  with  one  relay  of  horses  and  a  rest  half- 
way, is  easily  possible.  From  Grweedore  to  Carrick  is 
scarcely  less  than  fifty  miles,  but  it  is  a  fifty  miles  of 
such  remarkable  scenery  as  can  be  met  with  nowhere  else 
on  the  British  Islands.  Its  utter  desolation — far  greater 
than  even  between  Letterkenny  and  Gweedore — strikes 
one  as  something  incredible,  considering  that  it  is  actu- 
ally only  twenty-four  hours'  distance  from  London,  the 
heart  of  the  civilized  world. 

With  a  wrench  we  tore  ourselves  from  peaceful  Gwee- 
dore, followed  by  a  heap  of  good  wishes  for  fair  weather, 
which  fate  scattered  into  empty  air !  We  had  crossed 
Orolly  Bridge,  and  were  turning  to  look  our  last  upon 
Gweedore  river,  when  the  oldest  and  most  anxious-minded 
of  us  meekly  suggested,  "that  it  was  beginning  to  rain 
again."  Of  course  the  idea  was  scouted  indignantly — at 
first.  Then,  those  who  had  waterproofs  began  to  put 
them  on,  and  those  who  had  hats  likely  to  spoil  secluded 
them,  and  sported  woollen  caps  instead.  Umbrellas  wei*e 
dispensed  with  for  a  while — they  shut  out  the  view,  and, 
though  pleasant  to  yourself,  are  apt  to  drip  unpleasantly 


196  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

on  your  neighbor.  In  fact,  I  would  suggest  to  travellers 
in  Donegal  that  a  good  cloth  waterproof — not  one  of  those 
horrible  shiny  things,  in  every  fold  of  which  lurks  a  pool 
of  water — a  hood,  and  a  long  Scotch  plaid  over  the  knees, 
are  better  than  any  umbrella. 

We  saw  our  fate  before  us,  and  spent  the  first  half- 
hour  in  disbelieving  it,  the  second  in  fighting  against  it. 
Then  we  accepted  it,  with  a  noble  cheerfulness  which  I 
must  say  never  fiagged  during  the  whole  thirty-five  miles. 
Fortunately,  we  had  a  wagonet,  not  a  car,  so  that  our 
feet  were  warm,  and  being  face  to  face  we  could  laugh 
together  at  our  misfortunes.  As  we  did  laugh,  mile  after 
mile,  catching  sunshine  from  the  mutual  good-humored 
acceptance  of  tribulation,  which  is  the  very  heart  of  pleas- 
ant companionship  in  travelling. 

But  it  could  not  be  called  a  good  journey  or  a  lively 
road.  First  came  a  slight  ascent  crowned  by  a  "village" 
— a  few  wretched  cottages,  at  whose  damp  doors  stood 
one  or  two  women  "  so  withered  and  so  wild  in  their 
attire  "  that  they  reminded  us  of  Macbeth's  witches.  Then 
a  dreary  inlet,  or  rather  several  inlets  of  sea,  with  sandy 
vegetation — Annagary  Strand.  Across  it  moved  a  dark 
spot,  which  we  soon  saw  was  a  man  on  horseback,  taking 
a  short  cut,  half  riding,  half  swimming  his  horse,  to  the 
opposite  point.  He  was  the  only  human  interest  we  had 
for  miles,  and  we  watched  him  with  much  curiosity, 
thinking  of  Edgar  Ravenswood  in  the  last  pages  of  the 
"  Bride  of  Lammermoor."  But  ten  times  wilder  than  any 
scenery  of  Scott's  is  this  of  Ireland. 


i'nj 


IN   THE   ROSSES. 
(From  a  Dramng  by  F.  Nokl  Paton.) 


'mw 


The  Rosses,  into  which  we  had  now  entered,  is  a  dis- 
trict which  for  desolation  has  no  parallel  in  Europe. 
Bounded  by  the  sea  on  one  hand,  the  Derry-Veagh  Moun- 
tains and  lesser  hills  on  the  other,  its  extent  is  equal  to 
an  English  county — Rutland  for  instance.  A  single  road 
crosses  it,  to  a  single  \dllage — Dungloe ;  but  beyond  tliis, 
no  maps  indicate  it,  no  guide-books  describe  it.  I  ^^ish 
I  could!  I  wish  instead  of  driving  through  in  pelting 
rain,  and  seeing  it  by  glimpses  from  imder  umbrellas,  I 


198  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

could  have  walked  it  on  my  own  two  feet — young  feet, 
alas!  they  needed  to  be — the  fourteen  miles  to  Bungloe, 
and  the  twenty-two  more  to  Grienties!  What  a  treat  for 
an  energetic  pedestrian!  for  the  road  is  very  good,  and 
on  either  side  of  it  opens  out  a  world  of  wonder  and 
beauty:  bog,  moor,  boulder,  tiny  mountain  tarns,  where 
heaps  of  trout  are  said  to  lurk,  ignorant  of  rod  or  fly,  and 
everywhere  a  sohtude  absolutely  unbroken,  an  interminable 
wavy  ocean  of  land,  as  empty  and  pathless  as  the  sea. 

He  was  a  bold  man  who  first  planted  in  this  wilderness 
the  tiny  town  of  Dungloe.  For  a  town  it  is,  and  must  have 
been  for  a  good  many  years.  The  hotel  we  stopped  at  had 
large,  old-fashioned,  well-built  sitting-rooms,  and  a  long 
gallery  of  bedrooms,  not  uncomfortable,  apparently.  We 
got  a  good  meal — of  excellent  fresh  eggs,  milk,  bread-and- 
butter — also  a  piano,  which  was  made  to  discourse  excellent 
music  while  we  rested ;  so  far  as  we  could  rest,  with  the 
longest  half  of  our  journey  yet  to  come.  And  then,  under 
the  joyful  hope  that  it  would  be  fair — for  it  really  had 
ceased  to  rain — we  again  went  out  into  the  wilderness. 

What  a  glorious  wilderness  it  was !  What  a  sky  arched 
over  it !  Gray  still,  but  brightened  with  patches  of  amber 
and  rose,  coloring  the  distant  mountains,  and  reflected  in 
every  tiny  lake.  Our  artist  longed  to  stop  and  paint,  but 
we  might  as  well  have  left  him  like  Robinson  Crusoe  on 
the  desert  island.  And  besides,  grand  as  it  was  to  look  at, 
the  scenery  was  too  diffused  and  monotonous  for  the  pen- 
cil. Or,  indeed,  for  the  pen.  No  description  is  possible. 
I  can  only  say.  Go  and  see. 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE  TO   CARRICK.  199 

We  sat  and  gazed,  silently  almost,  for  I  know  not  how 
many  miles.  In  truth,  one  ceases  to  count  miles  here. 
They  seem  a  variable  quantity.  One  can  half  beUeve  the 
story  told  to  our  artist,  that  the  milestones  are  canied  along 
in  a  cart,  and  wherever  one  of  them  happens  to  drop  out, 
there  it  is  set  up.  I  can  remember  no  special  point  in  the 
landscape,  no  more  than  I  could  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean — had 
I  ever  crossed  it,  which  I  never  shall  do  now — until  the  car- 
riage stopped  at  the  top  of  a  sharp  descent ;  so  shai-p  that 
we  all  voluntarily  turned  out,  and  saw  below  us  a  pretty 
Uttle  village  and  a  picturesque  river,  the  Gweebarra,  rush- 
ing over  rocks  and  boulders  into  Gweebarra  Bay. 

Here,  at  last,  would  be  a  lovely  place  to  halt  at;  but 
halt  we  dared  not,  for  the  hght  was  fading  fast.  Sku'ting 
the  village,  though  not  entering  it,  the  road  wound  up 
again  into  another  stretch  of  monotonous  moor,  except  that 
even  the  heather  gradually  ceased,  giving  place  to  continu- 
ous masses  of  great  boulders  and  smaller  stones,  thrown  to- 
gether in  the  most  fantastic  way.  Never,  except  on  the  top 
of  the  Alps,  have  I  seen  such  a  total  absence  of  any  green 
thing.  "Desolation  of  desolation"  was  written  upon  aU 
around.    And  then  somebody  said,  "  Look  at  the  west !" 

Alas!  the  colors  had  all  faded  out,  and  a  black  after- 
sunset  cloud — the  sort  of  cloud  one  knows  only  too  well  in 
mountainous  countries — was  rising,  minute  by  minute,  cov- 
ering the  luminous  sky.  Very  grand  it  was,  with  its  tmil- 
ing  skirts  gradually  blotting  out  the  horizon  and  coming 
nearer  and  nearer  till  it  was  down  upon  us. 

I  have  been  in  a  stonn  on  the  top  of  St.  Gothard, 


200  AJ^   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

soaked  to  the  skin.  I  have  faced  in  Highland  glens  tem- 
pests so  wild  that  one  had  fairly  to  sit  down  on  the 
ground,  draw  one's  plaid  over  one's  head  and  wait  till  it  was 
over.  But  I  never  remember  such  rain  as  this  rain — not  a 
downpour,  but  a  deluge ;  not  a  wind,  but  a  hurricane.  It 
came  sweeping  along  with  a  kind  of  fiendish  howl,  as  if  to 
say,  "  I  have  you  now !"  And  truly  it  had.  All  idea  of 
scenery  went  out  of  our  minds ;  we  became  absorbed  in  the 
one  thought  of  protecting  ourselves  and  others.  Some- 
times, when  httle  streams  of  water  came  trickhng  down 
our  own  backs,  or  our  neighbors'  noses,  and  there  was  a 
mild  suggestion  that  umbrellas  might  be  slanted  so  as  to 
deposit  their  tiny  cataracts  outside  instead  of  in  the  car- 
riage, we  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh  at  our  misfortunes. 
But  no  one  suggested  that  we  had  brought  them  on  our- 
selves, and  that  by  the  exercise  of  a  Httle  patience  and  com- 
mon-sense we  might  now  have  been  peacefully  sitting  in 
our  cosey  parlor  at  Grweedore. 

"  Just  think  of  this  time  yesterday,  when  we  were  walk- 
ing in  that  sunshiny  garden,  gathering  'the  last  rose  of 
summer,'  which  was  far  from  '  blooming  alone ' — and  eating 
peaches  from  the  wall !" 

Incredible — yet  true.  And  I  wish  to  state  the  fact  as  a 
warning  to  travellers.  The  present  day,  the  present  hour,  is 
all  you  can  count  upon  as  to  weather,  and  perhaps  a  few 
other  things,  in  Ireland. 

At  last  our  driver,  who  had  sat  like  a  stone,  the  rain 
running  down  him  and  dripping  off  him,  turned  round. 

"  It's  only  two  miles  now  to  Glenties." 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE    TO    CARRICK.  201 

Never  was  news  hailed  with  more  delight.  And  though 
it  took  fully  an  hour  to  drive  those  long  two  miles,  and 
when  we  got  there  we  found  neither  fire  nor  food  attainable 
for  nearly  an  hour  more,  still,  we  had  a  roof  over  our  heads 
and  were  thankful. 

Two  of  us  had  been  at  Glenties  before;  this  was  our 
second  visit.    As  for  the  third — well ! 

We  spent  fourteen  hours  in  that  memorable  town — or 
village,  or  whatever  you  hke  to  call  it.  But  they  are  over. 
Let  us  not  chronicle  them.  The  good  folks  did  their  best 
— and  so  did  we. 

September  7th. — Ardara  (the  accent  is  on  the  last  sylla- 
ble), where  we  found  ourselves  at  ten  next  morning — of 
course,  an  exceedingly  and  aggravatingly  fine  morning — 
is  a  very  pretty  place.  At  what  exact  point  the  district 
called  the  Rosses  is  supposed  to  end  I  know  not ;  but  after 
Glenties  its  peculiarities  cease.  It  becomes  fertile  and 
green.  Its  desolation  changes  into  cultivation,  not  of  a 
very  high  type — first-class  farming  is  unknown  in  Ireland, 
where  if  Nature  does  httle,  man  does  less.  A  patch  of  oats, 
a  field  of  potatoes,  a  turf  ridge  for  fence,  and  a  fallen  tree 
or  an  old  ladder  balanced  on  two  heaps  of  stones  to  serve 
for  a  gate,  this  is  what  one  continually  finds.  Irish  in- 
genuity uses  anything  for  any  purpose,  just  as  it  comes  to 
hand ;  and  Irish  laziness  generally  leaves  it  there.  To  ex- 
pect the  luxuriant  pastures,  hay -meadows,  harvest  -  fields, 
and,  above  all,  the  neatly-kept  hedgerows  of  England,  or  the 
highly-cultivated  straths  of  Scotland,  would  bo  idle.    Yet 


202  AN    UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

there  are  little  oases  here  and  there,  and  Ardara  seemed  to 
be  one  of  them. 

Grlenties,  the  hannt  of  a  few  fishers  and  "  commercial 
gentlemen,"  anciently  called  "  bagmen,"  who  are  extremely 
welcome  and  valuable  visitors  in  this  far-away  region,  is 
not  at  all  suited  for  tourists.  Nothing  can  make  it  any- 
thing but — Grlenties.  But  Ardara — which  is  very  pictur- 
esque in  itself,  and  close  on  the  borders  of  a  most  pictur- 
esque countiy — would,  if  it  had  a  first-rate  hotel,  be  such  a 
centre  of  travelhng  that  it  might  command  its  own  custom. 

How  many  shops  Ardara  boasts  I  will  not  imdertake  to 
say.  But  I  can  answer  for  one  good  baker,  of  whom  we 
purchased  the  lunch  we  had  not  dared  to  risk  in  Grlenties ; 
a  capital  loaf,  divided  into  shces — which  the  said  baker  pro- 
posed to  cut  with  a  hammy  knife — a  pot  of  marmalade,  and 
a  spoon  to  eat  it  with,  which  gleamed  hke  silver,  price  one 
penny.  Our  driver  assured  us  we  should  find  "  plenty  of 
wather  "  in  the  mountain  streams,  and  we  had  several  trav- 
elMng-cups.  So  thus  luxuriously  provided  against  all  emer- 
gencies, we  started  afresh,  in  the  best  of  spirits  and  the 
brightest  of  sunshine. 

Grlen  Gesh,  which  is  not  far  from  Ardara,  is  one  of  the 
sweetest  glens  I  ever  saw.  Sweeter,  perhaps,  from  the 
contrast  its  peaceful  beauty  was  to  the  desolation  we  had 
passed  through  the  day  before.  We  ascended  for  a  mile 
and  a  half  in  gradual  windings,  between  two  smooth  slopes 
of  fertile  land.  The  bottom,  vividly  green,  was  sprinkled 
here  with  busy  groups,  making  and  carrying  what  seemed 
excellent  hay.     Hay  in  September  sounds  strange ;  but  we 


FROM  G  WE  ED  ORE  TO   CARRICK.  203 

found  it  often  still  left  in  the  fields.  Every  turn  in  the 
road  made  a  picture,  framed  between  these  two  verdant 
sides,  of  the  distant  Rosses  and  the  mountains  beyond — so 
different  from  yesterday!  If  we  had  only  waited  for  the 
sunshine  of  to-day!  But  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  best. 
We  should  otherwise  never  have  reahzed  the  intense  dreari- 
ness, the  awful  sohtude  of  those  not  far -distant  places 
which  to  some  of  our  fellow-creatures  are  "home" — the 
only  home  they  know,  and  to  which  they  chng  with  a 
tenacity  that  to  outsiders  is  utterly  incomprehensible. 

On  the  top  of  Glen  Gesh  we  sat  down  to  eat  and  drink, 
blessing  the  httle  mountain  stream  and  the  baker  of  Ardara, 
and  looking  back  on  a  view  which  I  can  see  still  with  shut 
eyes,  and  remember  as  one  of  the  lovely  visions  that  we 
cany  away  with  us — forever.  Afterwards  the  country 
grew  less  interesting,  and  more  civihzed.  There  came  a 
village  and  a  schoolhouse.  We  had  seen,  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  Rosses,  a  tumble-down  cabin,  over  the  door  of  which 
was  painted  in  stragghng  letters,  "  National  School."  But 
this  one  was  a  good -sized  cottage,  and  out  of  it  poured  at 
least  a  dozen  healthy -looking  children — ^barefooted,  bare- 
headed, but  with  clean  faces  and  sturdy  brown  limbs. 
Nothing  strikes  one  more  in  Donegal — or,  indeed,  through- 
out Ireland  —  than  the  exceeding  wholesomeness  of  the 
children.  Ragged  they  may  be,  thin  and  half-starved,  but 
they  are  seldom  either  crippled  or  diseased.  They  can  run 
like  hares,  and  spring  like  wild  cats ;  they  look  up  at  you 
fearlessly  with  their  big,  bright,  Irish  eyes,  and  ginn  at  you 
with  theh'  dazzhng  white  teeth,  till  you  laugh  in  spite  of 


204  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

yourself,  and  they  laugh  back  again,  as  if,  in  spite  of  all 
this  misery,  hfe  were  a  capital  joke. 

Half  a  dozen  of  these — the  young  generation  of  Ireland, 
of  which  hundreds  are  drafted  off  weekly  to  America  and 
the  Colonies — followed  us  for  a  mile  or  more,  tempted  by 
the  remnants  of  our  lunch,  especially  the  marmalade -pot, 
and  a  newspaper,  thrown  out  of  the  carriage  for  mischief, 
and  eagerly  seized  by  one  urchin,  as  if  he  had  never  seen 
such  a  thing  in  his  hfe  before.  Then  we  left  them  behind 
and  hastened  on  towards  Carrick.  For  the  day  was  already 
darkening,  and  the  mountains,  which  again  began  to  rise 
round  us,  were  misty  with  approaching  rain. 

Down  it  came,  blotting  out  hills,  glens,  sea — we  knew 
we  must  be  near  the  sea.  How  many  lovely  views  we 
missed  I  cannot  tell.  We  had  to  take  all  on  faith.  And 
when  we  arrived  like  drowned  rats  at  Carrick — of  which 
we  had  heard  such  glowing  accounts  that  we  had  made  it 
the  climax,  and  end,  of  our  expedition — we  felt  that,  in 
spite  of  all  the  allurements  of  scenery,  a  warm  fire,  a  good 
dinner,  a  cosey  parlor,  and  a  capital  piano  are  no  small 
items  in  the  aggregate  of  human  fehcity. 

Wednesday,  September  8th. — Here  I  again  hesitate 
whether  or  not  to  cross  the  sacred  hue  which  ought  al- 
ways to  divide  pubhc  from  private  hfe.  But  the  Mus- 
graves  of  Carrick  are  so  widely  known,  and  have  been  so 
much  talked  about  and  written  about,  that  I  shall  hardly 
do  harm  in  mentioning  them,  and  our  personal  experience 
of  them ;  they  being  hitherto  unknown  to  us. 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE  TO   CARRJCK.  205 

Rising  this  morning  to  a  day  so  doubtful  that  we  held 
an  after-breakfast  council  as  to  what  we  should  do — ^if  we 
could  do  anything  —  there  was  announced  a  visitor;  an 
elderly  gentleman,  hale  and  hearty,  the  raindrops  ghsten- 
ing  on  his  gray  frieze  shooting-coat  and  pleasant  rosy  face 
— who  gave  us  "welcome  to  Carrick."  He  was  Mr.  John 
Musgrave,  head  of  a  well-known  Belfast  firm,  and  eldest 
of  a  large  family  of  brothers  and  sisters,  all  unmarried, 
who  had  been  reported  to  us  as  using  their  large  income  in 
doing  "  a  power  o'  good." 

A  good  many  years  ago,  being  accidentally  at  Carrick,  he 
and  his  brother  took  a  great  fancy  to  the  district ;  bought 
land,  built  a  shooting-lodge,  then  bought  and  enlarged  the 
little  inn,  adding  acre  to  acre  as  opportunity  offered,  until 
now  they  own  the  whole  country-side,  and  are  among  the 
large  land-owners  whom  the  preachers  of  the  doctrine  of 
"  three  acres  and  a  cow  "  so  much  deciy.  But  what  have 
they  done  with  their  land  ?  They  have  built  cottages  upon 
it ;  made  roads  through  it,  which  cost  thousands  of  pounds, 
and  then  assigned  them  over  to  public  use ;  have  helped  to 
get  the  harbor  repaired,  and  the  fisheries  restarted;  have 
instituted  various  inland  industries,  besides  employing  a 
host  of  people,  and  giving  them  steady  wages  through  hard 
times.  In  short,  they  have  done  all  that  clever  business 
men,  with  their  hearts  in  the  coimtry,  could  do,  to  ben- 
efit it. 

Of  course,  they  have  had  their  cahminiators  —  requir- 
ing to  fight  inch  by  inch  against  the  ignorance  which  re- 
sists any  improvement,  and  the  pi*ejudice  which  is  always 


206  AN'   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

ready  to  discover  an  ill  motive  rather  than  a  good  one. 
They  have  had  to  cast  their  bread  upon  the  waters,  with 
the  certainty  of  not  finding  it,  even  after  many  days.  But 
they  have  gone  on  from  year  to  year,  succeeding  or  fail- 
ing, as  might  happen,  yet  always  undismayed.  "  The 
Musgraves  "  are  known  and  respected  all  over  Donegal. 

Much  of  this  we  had  already  heard ;  during  the  next 
few  days  we  saw  it  with  our  own  eyes. 

Well,  and  what  shall  I  show  you  %  If  you  don't  mind 
a  wetting — we  never  do  at  Carrick — the  salmon -leap  will 
be  splendid  in  this  rain.  And  then  you  can  drive  down 
to  the  harbor  and  the  coastguard  station.  We  must  wait 
a  fine  day  for  Sheve  League,  whether  you  go  there  by 
land  or  sea." 

Now  Sheve  League  was  one  of  the  places  I  had  visited 
fifteen  years  before,  and  one  of  the  chief  aims  of  my 
present  visit  was  to  see  it  again.  It  is  a  grand  mountain 
—  we  saw  from  our  parlor  window  its  huge  black  shoul- 
der, down  which  the  rain  came  sweeping  in  misty  clouds, 
then  clearing  off  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  then  beginning 
again.  One  of  its  sides  is,  to  seaward,  a  sheer  precipice 
of  perpendicular  rock.  You  may  walk  to  the  edge,  or 
creep  on  all-fours  if  your  head  fails  you,  and  look  straight 
down  two  thousand  feet  to  the  boiling  waters  below.  I 
did  it  then,  and  have  never  forgotten  the  sight.  I  meant 
to  do  it  again,  and  also  to  take  a  boat  —  only  possible  in 
very  calm  weather  —  and  look  at  the  cliffs  upwards  from 
below. 

Mr.  Musgrave  at  this  suggestion  shook  his  head,  but 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE  TO    CARRICK.  207 

cheerily  —  he  seemed  a  man  who  would  take  everything 
cheerily.  "  No  Slieve  League  to  -  day,  I  think ;  but  to- 
morrow, or  the  next  day,  to  give  this  storm  time  to  abate 
— you  might  try  a  boat;  I'll  manage  it  for  you.  Mean- 
time, you  can  do  the  harbor.  And  I  should  like  to  take 
you  to  a  cottage  where  they  are  finishing  a  web  of  frieze 
— hke  this  coat  of  mine — the  best  thing  possible  for  our 
climate,  for  it  never  lets  the  wet  in,  and  never  wears 
out." 

Of  course  we  went.  There  has  been  much  talk  lately 
about  Irish  cottage  industries,  so  sohdly  useful  as  well 
as  dainty  and  beautiful.  If  Enghsh  people  could  but  see 
the  cottages  out  of  which  they  come,  and  the  apphances 
for  their  manufacture !  A  cotton  or  cloth  factory,  with 
its  perfect  machinery  and  its  clever  *'  hands,"  educated 
therein  from  childhood,  is  one  thing ;  an  Irish  cottage 
loom  is  quite  another.  When  I  looked  at  the  smaU  cabin 
and  its  five  busy  workers  —  two  men  and  three  women, 
the  latter  sitting  silent  over  most  deUcate  embroidery — I 
wondered  at  the  humble  means  which  resulted  in  such  a 
good  end.  Whether  the  Irish  peasant  has  the  accuracy, 
persistency,  and  biddableness  —  to  coin  a  word  —  requisite 
for  the  making  of  a  good  factory  worker,  is  an  open  ques- 
tion ;  but  decidedly  he  has  a  head  that  can  work  for  it- 
self, and  think  for  itself,  with  veiy  satisfactoiy  results. 
Here  again  —  as  I  watched  these  poor  folk,  laboring  on 
with  such  small  appliances,  there  was  home  in  upon  me 
a  sense  of  the  gi*eat  capacity  of  the  Irish  race,  if  only  it 
could  be  put  to  some  practical  use. 


208  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

The  river,  varying  enormously  in  size,  according  to 
weather,  runs  down  from  Carrick  village  to  the  sea,  be- 
tween a  perfect  forest  of  Osmunda  ferns,  and  over  a 
pretty  salmon -leap.  Thither  we  went  —  in  waterproofs 
and  under  umbrellas  —  Mr.  Musgrave  in  his  gray  frieze 
being  nobly  independent  of  either.  And  then,  in  a  pause 
of  rain,  we  drove  down  to  the  harbor  and  pier  he  had 
told  us  of ;  which,  during  hard  times,  had  been  built  by 
government  to  provide  work  for  starving  men,  and  to  as- 
sist the  fisheries  of  Teehn  Bay.  Close  beside  it,  on  a  lit- 
tle rocky  hill,  kept  as  neat  as  a  garden,  was  the  coast- 
guard station  and  its  tiny  "  lookout."  Thence  one  of  the 
men  descended,  to  help  us  up  the  steep  path. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that's  the  harbor,  and  the  little  pier 
with  the  boats  —  very  good  boats  too,  if  they  were  ever 
washed  and  looked  after.  The  fishermen  will  stand,  day 
after  day,  watching  us  wash  ours,  but  they  never  do  it 
themselves.  They  just  hang  about,  as  you  see  them  now 
—  talk,  talk,  talk.  If  you're  wanting  any  of  their  boats, 
ladies,  you'd  better  think  twice" — mth  a  significant  sniff 
— "you  mightn't  like  it." 

The  man  was  Enghsh,  evidently ;  and  his  lookout  — 
built  of  the  solidest  material,  and  with  the  smallest  of 
windows,  so  as  to  resist  storms,  compared  to  which  the 
one  we  now  sheltered  from  must  have  been  mere  child's 
play  —  was  as  clean  and  tidy  and  in  as  good  repair  as 
English  hands,  and  sailors'  hands,  could  make  it.  We  all 
"snuggled"  therein,  for  our  friend  seemed  pleased  to  wel- 
come   strangers,  and   still  more   so  to   discover  that  his 


hlALMON-I.KAl'    AT    CAKUU  K. 

(From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Ndkl  Paton.) 


native  place  was  only  a  few  miles  from  that  of  the  Brown 
Bird  and  the  Violet ;  so  that  he  knew  their  name  and  all 
about  their  family.  He  had  his  httle  boy  beside  him — 
clean  and  -wholesome  -  looking  in  the  neatest  of  clothes, 
indicating  a  careful  mother. 

"  Yes,  my  wife's  EngUsh  too.  She  belongs  to  South- 
ampton. She  found  it  a  great  change  coming  here,  where 
she's  not  got  a  soul  to  speak  to,  and  can't  go  shop- 
ping" (shopping  indeed!  at  Slieve  League!).  "But  she's 
reconciled  to  it  now.  It's  a  healthy  place,  and  the  people 
here  are  not  bad  folks — if  they'd  only  be  a  little  more  tidy." 


210  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

We  noticed  the  perfection  of  tidiness  and  cleanliness 
in  his  lookout. 

"Ay,  ay,  we're  obliged  to  keep  things  shipshape,  for 
the  inspector  may  be  down  upon  us  any  day.  He  goes 
his  rounds,  giving  no  notice  beforehand,  and  hears  any 
complaints  we  have  to  make.  We  are  not  kept  many 
years  in  one  place — if  it's  a  place  like  this  we  couldn't 
stand  it.  And  we  mostly  have  our  wives  and  children 
vnih.  us" — patting  kindly  the  flaxen  head  that  hid  behind 
him.  "  He's  shy,  ladies — ^he  sees  almost  nobody  here — but 
he'll  mend  by  and  by." 

As  no  doubt  he  will  —  for  he  was  a  fine  little  fellow. 
May  he  grow  up  into  one  of  those  picked  men  who  form 
our  coastguard — whose  dull  daily  life  is  almost  as  heroic 
as  the  deeds  which  now  and  then  color  it  with  a  glow  of 
self -forgetful  courage  that  revives  one's  faith  in  human 
nature — the  human  nature  which  has  the  di\dne  element 
at  its  core  after  all. 

On  this  and  the  following  day  we  heard  a  good  deal 
about  the  fisheries.  Of  course,  contradictory  accounts. 
One  was,  that  no  fishing  worth  speaking  of  was  to  be 
got ;  the  finny  family,  always  a  capricious  race,  having  de- 
serted their  old  haunts,  or  been  driven  away  by  the  trawl- 
ers, so  that  it  is  necessary  to  go  after  them  fifteen  or 
twenty  miles  out  to  sea ;  which,  for  want  of  proper  boats, 
the  fishermen  dare  not  do.  The  opposite  side  insists  that 
there  are  plenty  of  fish  to  be  caught,  but  no  men  skilful 
enough,  or  industrious  enough,  to  catch  them ;  that  though 
government  has  built  harbors  and  piers,  and  even  given 


FROM  G  WE  ED  ORE  TO    CARRICK.  211 

boats  and  nets,  the  boats  lie  idle,  the  nets  hang  rotting 
beside  the  cottage  doors. 

Probably  the  real  truth  lies  between  these  two  oppo- 
site versions  of  it.  That  the  fish  have  migrated  farther 
from  the  coast,  and  the  fishing  requires  greater  skill,  and 
better  appUances  than  are  forthcoming,  is  tolerably  sure. 
A  recent  government  commission  gives  imquestionable  sta- 
tistics on  the  subject.  Reporting  of  Killybegs  —  only  a 
few  miles  distant  from  TeeUn — it  says : 

"Mackerel  appeared  in  great  quantities  and  remained 
during  July,  August,  and  September,  but  a  few  only  were 
caught,  owing  to  the  scarcity  of  nets.  Lobsters  and  crabs 
were  in  great  abundance.  Soles  were  never  caught  at  all 
till  the  trawlers  came.  It  is  impossible  to  calculate  the 
enormous  loss  of  fish  for  want  of  the  proper  means  of 
capture." 

Yet  the  report  goes  on  to  record :  "  Loans  to  fisher- 
men (of  six  counties)  during  the  past  ten  years  ending 
December  31, 1884,  £28,000.  Repaid,  £20,062.  Out  of  two 
hundred  and  sixty -four  apphcations  for  grants  to  con- 
struct or  improve  boat-steps,  piers,  harbors,  fifty-four  were 
inquired  into  and  fifty -five  recommended,  the  cost  being 
roughly  estimated  at  £193,000." 

After  this  who  shall  say  that  England  refuses  to  help 
Ireland,  or  that  Ireland  never  pays  her  debts?  If  the 
politicians  of  both  countries  would  cease  talking  and  act; 
if  the  people  would  give  up  wrangUng  and  work ;  if  the 
upper  classes  would  show  an  example  to  the  lower,  in- 
stead of  censuring  them  for  not  possessing  virtues  which 


212  AI^   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

for  centuries  their  betters  have  too  seldom  exemphtied, 
thrift,  order,  carefulness,  reticence  of  language,  upright- 
ness of  life,  and,  above  all,  Christian  charity — then  indeed 
there  might  be  some  hope  for  Ireland. 

September  9th. — We  woke  up  to  the  wildest  storm. 
Slieve  League  in  the  distance  looked  black  as  Acheron. 
Down  the  road  leading  to  Carrick  village  the  rain  swept 
in  a  deluge.  Opposite,  two  or  three  men  were  trying  to 
save  the  poor  remainder  of  a  hay- stack,  half  of  which, 
though  it  was  tied  down  with  ropes,  had  been  already 
blown  away.  At  8  a.m.  everything  outside  seemed  hope- 
less, but  at  twelve  there  was  a  break  in  the  clouds,  a  lull 
in  the  wind  and  rain,  and  presently  Mr.  Musgrave  ap- 
peared. 

"  G-et  your  lunch  as  quickly  as  possible.  I  have 
broiight  my  car  and  ordered  another.  I  want  to  take 
you  to  Muckross.  It  will  be  fair.  Oh,  yes !  it  is  sure 
to  be  fair." 

His  sanguine  energy  was  too  much  for  us.  "We  meek- 
ly obeyed,  and  were  soon  under  way ;  whither  we  knew 
not,  but  everywhere  was  interesting. 

Muckross  is  a  rocky  peninsula  forming  one  of  the 
horns  of  the  httle  Bay  of  Killybegs,  which  is  included  in 
the  grand  half -circle  of  Donegal  Bay.  We  drove  to  it 
along  the  high  mountain  -  road  above  the  salmon  -  river, 
which  runs  into  the  sea  at  Teehn.  This  road,  planned 
and  carried  out  by  the  Musgraves  at  theu'  own  expense, 
in  a  time  of  great  distress,  and  then  made  over  by  them 


THE   LAin  OP  THE   WHiniAVIXP. 


FROM  QWEEDORE  TO    CARRICK.  215 

to  the  government,  is  one  of  the  finest  imaginable.  Every 
few  yards  of  it  gives  a  different  view  of  mountain  and 
sea.  The  country  it  winds  through,  though  so  grand,  is 
not  desolate  like  the  Rosses.  Every  now  and  then  we 
passed  a  small  holding — cottage,  potato-garden,  and  a  field 
or  two,  sometimes  with  a  cow  on  it — and  in  one  instance 
we  saw  a  woman  industriously  shaking  out  hay  with  her 
two  hands,  which  is  the  Donegal  fashion  of  "  tedding." 

And  then,  in  the  intervals  of  saying  "  How  grand !" 
"  How  beautiful !"  of  which  one  sometimes  wearies  a  ht- 
tle,  I  gathered  much  information,  in  which,  as  in  most 
other  instances,  I  carefully  avoid  identifying  the  facts  with 
those  from  whom  I  heard  them.  But  that  I  did  hear  them 
from  reUable  sources,  and  have  recorded  them  accurately, 
I  must  ask  my  readers  to  beheve. 

"  They  are  a  fine  race,  these  Donegal  peasants  f  I  said, 
as  when  we  stopped  two  big,  strong  men  came  forward 
to  hold  the  horses,  and  each  offered  a  brown,  dirty,  friend- 
ly hand,  not  only  to  those  they  knew,  but  to  me,  the 
stranger. 

"  Not  a  finer  race  under  the  sun ;  honest,  sober,  moral, 
intelligent.  Most  of  them,  besides  their  farm-work,  do 
their  own  building,  thatching,  and  weaving.  Little  money 
is  current  among  them  —  they  exchange  butter  and  eggs 
for  the  few  articles  they  want  at  the  shops.  Many  of 
them  never  stir  all  their  lives  from  the  spot  where  they 
were  bom,  but  some  go  over  to  America  as  pedlers,  make 
a  little  money,  come  back  and  sink  it  in  land.  The  *  laud- 
hunger  '  is  an  ineradicable  passion  in  the  Irish  heart." 


216  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

"  And  the  ' love  of  the  sod'  its  strongest  emotion?" 

"  Yes,  because  our  Irish  farms  are  not  like  your  Eng- 
lish ones.  Here,  the  tenant  generally  has  built  his  own 
house,  reclaimed  his  own  land ;  consequently  he  feels  as  if 
he  had  a  right  to  it,  and  clings  to  it  in  a  way  incompre- 
hensible to  your  English  peasant.  When  his  children  grow 
up  he  subdivides  it  among  them,  but  as  there  is  seldom  any 
industry  possible  outside  the  farm,  they  cannot  live  upon 
it.  The  land  will  not  support  its  population — they  must 
emigrate  or  starve." 

"And  how  about  evictions  f 

"  A  good  resident  landlord  will  avoid  evictions  if  possi- 
ble. He  can  generally  distinguish  between  those  who  can't 
pay,  and  those  who  won't  pay,  and  act  accordingly." 

Seeing  how  stalwart  and  healthy-looking  were  the  men 
we  met,  in  spite  of  all  their  rags,  I  asked  about  that  great 
curse  of  a  nation — drunkenness ;  remarking  that  except  at 
Ballycastle  Fair  I  had  not  seen  a  single  drunken  man  in 
Antrim,  Coleraine,  or  Donegal. 

"  No ;  as  a  rule  they  don't  drink  much — except  at  fairs, 
w^hich  occur  far  too  often.  The  first  day  is  for  buying  and 
selling,  the  second  is  for  amusement — when  the  girls  come 
from  miles  round  for  shopping  and  dancing.  There's 
plenty  of  fun  going,  but  it  is  decent  fun.  The  worst  sins 
of  our  people  hereabouts  are  poaching  and  illicit  whiskey- 
making.  If  on  the  mountains  you  meet  a  man  with  a  gun, 
or  see  signs  of  a  hidden  '  still ' — well !  perhaps  you  had  bet- 
ter— look  another  w^ay !" 

I  might  have  owned  to  unlawful  sympathies — inasmuch 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE   TO    CARRICK.  217 

as  I  never  could  quite  understand  why  the  fowls  of  the 
air  and  the  fish  of  the  water  should  not  be  public  property, 
or  why  a  man  should  not  make  his  own  whiskey  as  well  as 
his  own  soup,  if  he  chooses — but  these  heterodox  ideas  were 
suddenly  quenched  by  our  reaching  Muckross.  How,  having 
exhausted  all  available  adjectives  in  painting  many  a  previ- 
ous picture  of  this  splendid  coast,  shall  I  attempt  another  ? 

A  long,  narrow  tongue  of  land,  ending  in  seaweed- cov- 
ered rocks — most  difficult  walking — and  a  ledge,  where  we 
at  last  sat  down — the  mnd  made  it  impossible  to  stand^ — 
with  the  black  outline  of  Slieve  League  before  us,  and  close 
at  our  feet  the  enormous  Atlantic  rollers  pouring  in,  dash- 
ing themselves  into  a  deluge  of  spray,  and  scattering  spin- 
drift in  large  white  flakes  for  many  yards.  Close  by — 
strange  rehc  of  past  generations — was  a  small  heap  which 
we  were  told  was  a  Danish  fort,  but  nobody  seemed  to 
know  much  about  it.  The  roar  of  the  waves,  the  fierce 
northwesterly  wind,  which  was  hke  battling  against  a 
stone  wall,  the  leaden-gray  sky,  the  wild  "  white  horses " 
that  kept  leaping  up  even  in  the  comparatively  sheltered 
Donegal  Bay — one  of  the  finest  bays  in  Ireland,  with  its 
single  small  island  lying  flat  as  a  fish  on  the  surface  of  the 
water — all  make  up  a  scene  which,  if  we  never  see  it  again, 
we  shall  none  of  us  ever  forget. 

We  had  scarcely  time  to  take  it  in,  before  the  angry 
clouds  above  Slieve  League  warned  us  that  we  had  better 
think  of  departing.  So,  luuTying  past  Muckross  village — 
two  or  three  cabins  huddling  under  a  cliff,  whore  the  penin- 
sula joins  tlu'  mainland — and  rofnsinir  the  universal  hospi- 


218  AN  UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

tality  of  "  a  dhrink  of  milk  " — such  delicious  milk  it  is  too ! 
— we  remounted  our  cars. 

A  mile  or  two  more,  retracing  the  same  coast  road, 
which  at  every  turn  took  a  new  aspect  of  dreary  sublimity 
— and  the  storm  was  down  upon  us.  The  picturesque  was 
forgotten,  and  all  our  energies  absorbed  in  the  combined 
effort  of  holding  on  and  keeping  dry. 

Nobody  seemed  to  mind  it,  least  of  all  our  good  friends 
in  the  gray  frieze;  who  explained  to  us  with  unabated  cheer- 
fulness that  this  was  "  only  the  equinox,"  and  after  a  week 
or  so  of  it  would  come  the  Donegal  summer,  the  finest 
time  of  all  the  year.  "  But,"  viewing  the  waves  that  rolled 
in  mountains  high,  against  the  entrance  of  Teelin  Bay, 
"you'll  not  be  able  to  see  Sheve  League  from  a  boat  to- 
morrow." 

The  Celt  is  not  a  coward ;  nor,  if  taught  to  work,  is  he 
either  a  dunce  or  a  sluggard,  especially  out  of  Ireland ;  but 
in  it,  what  with  its  soft,  enervating,  southern  and  tempest- 
uous northern  chmate,  he  has  a  good  deal  to  fight  against. 
These  things  ought  to  be  considered  in  giving  him  the 
comprehending  sympathy  without  which  there  can  be  no 
true  justice.  I  gave  it,  in  degree,  to  the  poor  fellows  who 
were  hanging  about  the  pier,  in  compulsory  idleness.  Oh ! 
that  there  could  be  put  into  them  a  little  of  the  thirst  for 
work,  and  the  love  of  it,  which  has  carried  the  stolid  Saxon 
triumphantly  into  every  corner  of  the  world  ! 

September  10. — And  a  tempest  still.  Well  for  us  that 
we  were  so  snugly  housed,  with  comforts  that  justified  all 


FROM  QWEEDORE   TO    CARRICK.  219 

we  had  heard  of  Carrick  Hotel.  Manfully,  and  womanfully, 
we  faced  our  woes.  The  shiny  mackintoshes  so  objectiona- 
ble for  driving — since  every  fold  involved  a  waterspout — 
were  invaluable  for  walking.  Hats  being  impossible,  and 
umbrellas  a  delusion  and  a  snare,  the  Barbarous  Scot  pro- 
duced a  welcome  store  of  Tam-o'-Shanters,  which  he  dis- 
tributed all  round;  and  very  nice  the  merry  young  faces 
looked  under  them.  Even  I,  in  a  costume  emulating  the 
Witch  of  Endor,  at  last  followed  the  rest  out  into  the 
storm. 

Close  by  was  the  open  door  of  the  CathoHc  chapel ;  why 
are  not  our  church  doors  always  open  ?  We  entered,  the 
Violet  and  I,  and  found  it  a  handsome,  simple  building,  still 
unfinished.  Service  had  been  carried  on  at  a  side  altar, 
which  was  decorated  with  two  large  white  figures,  in  much 
better  taste  than  the  tawdry  shabbiness  one  often  sees. 
Ladders  and  tools  were  lying  about,  and  a  young  workman 
was  busy  at  the  rails  of  the  high-altar,  which  were  taste- 
ful specimens  of  woodwork.  He  looked  up  with  a  civil 
"  Good  -  morning,"  and  we  began  talking.  He  was  veiy 
intelligent,  and  his  English,  though  sometimes  a  httle  for- 
eign in  construction,  was  exceedingly  pure. 

"Yes,  it's  beautiful  wood,  ma'am;  wreckage  —  often  a 
lot  of  it  comes  ashore  here,  mahogany,  walnut,  and  pine ; 

and  is  bought  very  cheap,  as  Father " (I  forget  his 

name)  "  bought  this.  He  thinks  it  should  be  painted,  but 
I'd  like  varnish  better."  And  wo  hero  had  an  eager  discus- 
sion, ending  decidedly  in  favor  of  varnish.  Pleased  at  our 
interest  in  him,  he  became  confidential.     "  It'll  be  a  fine 


220  AN    UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

cliapel  when  it's  done,  won't  it,  ma'am  ?  I  come  and  work 
at  it  every  day;  but  I'm  not  a  Carrick  man — I'm  from 
Ardara.     Ye'U  have  seen  Ardara  f " 

We  gratified  him  by  admiring  the  place,  and  he  launched 
out  in  praise  of  it ;  of  the  capital  inn  it  had,  with  divergen- 
cies to  the  landlord  and  his  family  history.  The  young 
fellow's  earnest,  intelligent  enthusiasm  over  his  work,  and 
his  simple  confidence  that  we  shared  it,  touched  our  hearts, 
and  though  we  never  learned  his  name  nor  anything  about 
him,  we  carried  away  a  good  remembrance  of  the  workman 
of  Ardara. 

"  National  school,"  said  the  Violet,  pointing  to  a  large 
cottage  behind  a  potato  garden,  over  the  door  of  which  this 
was  inscribed.  "  Let  us  try  it.  We  shall  be  under  a  roof, 
anyhow." 

And  without  prejudice  let  me  say  that  among  the 
many  school-roofs  I  have  been  under,  in  England  and  Scot- 
land, I  never  found  a  better  shelter,  mental  and  bodily,  for 
the  young  generation.  It  was  a  warm,  well  -  ventilated, 
wholesome  room,  filled,  but  not  crowded,  with  children  of 
all  sizes  and  ages,  boys  and  girls  together ;  apparently  kept 
in  perfect  order  by  the  master,  and  one  or  two  elder  girls 
as  monitors. 

They  looked  surprised  at  our  sudden  entrance,  but  the 
master  came  forward  with  true  Irish  pohteness,  and  when  I 
explained  that  we  were  strangers  who  took  much  interest 
in  education,  he  called  up  a  class,  and  tested  it  in  two  out 
of  "  the  three  R's  " — reading  and  writing — most  satisfactori- 
ly.    Then  he  asked  us  to  take  another  class  ourselves,  and 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE  TO    CARRICK.  221 

I  heard  them  read,  verse  and  verse  about,  Southey's  poem 
of  "The  Holly -tree;"  the  meannig  of  which,  when  ques- 
tioned, these  little  barefooted,  bright-eyed  brats  had  taken 
in,  I  found,  with  surprising  quickness.  Then  I  sent  them  on 
imaginary  map-journeys  half  over  the  world ;  they  travelled 
intelhgently,  and  showed  a  familiarity  with  the  surface  of 
the  globe,  and  its  productions,  which  was  very  creditable  to 
their  teacher. 

He  told  me  he  had  been  here  fifteen  years,  so  that  he 
must  have  come  to  Carrick  as  a  mere  boy,  and  these  were 
his  first  scholar's  children.  They  came,  he  said,  fi'om  some 
distance  round;  though  there  is  generally  a  National  school 
^^ithin  two  or  three  miles,  everywhere,  all  over  Ireland. 
Many  brought  their  little  brothers  and  sisters,  for  warmth 
and  safety,  if  not  for  schoohng. 

"  They  don't  harm  us,"  he  said,  looking  over  kindly  to  a 
group,  you  could  not  call  it  a  class,  of  small,  ragged,  but 
perfectly  clean  roly-poly  creatures,  the  eldest  of  whom 
could  not  be  more  than  three  years  old.  "  They're  good 
children,  and  their  elders  take  a  deal  of  care  of  them." 

His  chief  trouble,  he  said,  was  that  he  could  not  keep 
his  scholars  long  enough  at  school.  Their  parents,  many 
of  whom  spoke  only  Irish,  saw  no  good  in  English,  or  in 
any  leaniing,  and  wanted  them  at  home,  the  boys  for  farm- 
work,  the  girls  for  knitting.  Still,  they  do  contrive  to  learn 
something,  and  their  bright,  intelligent  faces,  big  round 
arms  and  legs,  contrasted  \a\adly  with  the  pale,  skinny, 
^^dzened,  gin-poisoned  children  that  one  sees  in  a  London 
board  school. 


222  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

The  Irish  National  schools  are,  I  learned  afterwards, 
almost  exclusively  due  to,  and  guided  by,  the  Eoman  Cath- 
olic half  of  the  population.  These  had  demanded  a  purely 
secular  teaching,  while  the  Protestants  insisted  on  a  relig- 
ious (and  Protestant)  education,  consequently  the  scheme 
fell  to  pieces.  The  Catholics  took  it  up  and  carried  it 
through — though,  by  government  rules  posted  up  in  every 
schoolroom,  the  teachers  are  bound  not  to  interfere  in  any 
way  with  either  politics  or  religion.  Therefore,  though,  as 
I  afterwards  heard,  the  schoolmaster  of  Carrick  is  a  rigid 
Catholic  and  a  vehement  Home-Ruler,  I  conclude  he  does 
not  force  his  opinions  upon  his  young  flock  any  more  than 
he  did  upon  me.  I  hope  he  will  cherish  a  kindly  recollec- 
tion of  the  two  stranger  ladies  who  went  away  as  anony- 
mously as  they  came. 

Rain — rain — all  day  long.  A  faint  pause  in  it  took  our 
artist  out  in  search  of  work — and  us  of  pleasure — along  the 
road  to  Mahn  Head,  which  the  Barbarous  Scot,  who  prot-ests 
that  he  enjoys  dreariness,  found  quite  to  his  mind.  More 
to  our  minds  was  the  bright  turf -fire,  and  the  social  eve- 
ning, when  we  made  the  very  best  of  things,  and  went  to  bed 
with  a  ghmmering  of  hope — ^for  there  were  at  least  three 
stars  visible  over  black  Slieve  League — to  awake  in  despair. 

For — at  6  a.m.  on  Saturday,  September  11th — the  rain 
was  raining  faster  than  ever.  Our  first  news  on  descend- 
ing was  that  our  good  landlord's  hay -stacks  had  been 
carried  clear  away  down  the  river,  together  with  three 
sheep  and  two  cows — I  will  not  vouch  for  the  numbers, 
which  grew  in  every  repetition. 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE   TO    CARRICK.  223 

"We  shall  never  get  to  Slieve  League — anyhow,  she 
won't !"  was  the  remark,  with  a  reproachful  glance  at  me, 
as  if  I  were  to  blame  for  the  weather  in  this  place  which  I 
had  brought  them  so  far  to  see. 

I  did  what  I  could ;  keeping  up  all  day  a  cheerful  fire 
and  countenance ;  seeing  to  the  periodical  drying  of  water- 
proofs, which  hung  in  a  long  row,  like  Blue  Beard's  wives ; 
and  suggesting  the  blessings — not  universal — of  a  roof  over 
our  heads,  a  warm  room,  and  a  good  dinner.  And  though  it 
is  difficult  to  keep  one's  temper  under  such  circumstances, 
I  wish  to  put  it  emphatically  on  record  that  we — the  whole 
six  of  us — kept  ours. 

Sunday,  September  12th. — ^And  our  last — for  in  two 
days  our  tour  must  end.  Truly,  in  Irish  weather  as  in 
French  politics,  nothing  happens  but  the  unexpected — for 
we  rose  to  a  day  of  perfect  calm  and  heavenly  sunshine ! 

While  we  stood  listening  to  the  chapel  bell,  watching 
the  long  stream  of  decently  clad  people  going  to  mass — 
and  considering  whether,  in  the  absence  of  other  worship, 
we  should  not  go  in  and  say  our  prayers  with  them — a 
message  came  from  the  Musgraves  saying  that  the  car 
would  come  round  and  take  us  to  the  Protestant  church 
at  Glen  Columbkille.  So  we  went;  along  the  same  road 
by  which  we  had  driven  towards  Malin  Head,  but  what  a 
difference!  The  gray  moor  and  black  bog  were  bright 
with  sunshine ;  the  long,  dark  mass  of  SUeve  League  was 
tinted  with  all  sorts  of  mountain  Hghts  and  shadows ;  turn- 
ing off  to  the  right,  we  came  upon  a  very  picturesque  road, 


224  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

and  by  and  by  we  reached  the  glen,  with  a  pretty  church 
nesthng  in  its  heart;  semi-circular  hills  ending  in  abrupt 
cliffs,  sheltering  it  on  three  sides,  and  on  the  fourth  a  bright 
outlook  across  the  shimmering  sea.  We  had  forgotten  all 
the  storms  and  blasts  of  the  week — the  world  was  beautiful 
as  ever. 

Grlen  Columbkille  is  one  of  the  endless  memorials  of 
that  remarkable  man  who  has  left  the  impress  of  his 
character  on  both  Ireland  and  Scotland.  St.  Columb's 
Bed,  a  ruined  tower  on  the  headland  opposite,  and  forty 
"  stations "  marked  with  crosses  within  the  glen,  mark 
where  the  saint  had  been.  The  original  church,  whose 
foundations  were  discovered  in  digging  a  grave,  was  also 
probably  built  by  him,  but,  except  the  name,  no  tradition 
remains  of  it.  Nor  of  another  curious  "find" — a  subter- 
ranean passage  sixty  feet  long,  and  consisting  of  three 
chambers,  which  a  workman's  crowbar,  struck  into  the 
ground  and  disappearing,  recently  brought  to  light.  Its 
entrance,  near  the  church-door,  is  now  closed,  but  could 
easily  be  opened  again  for  the  investigation  of  archaeolo- 
gists. 

The  simple  service  over,  and  the  congregation  of  about 
twenty  people  ha\dng  melted  away,  we  lingered  in  the 
sweet,  quiet  churchyard — dating,  no  doubt,  from  St.  Co- 
lumba's  time ;  for  several  very  ancient  crosses  and  frag- 
ments of  tombstones  were  placed  over  the  dead  of  later 
generations.  And  among  many  nameless  graves  was  one 
beside  which  it  was  impossible  to  stand  unmoved.  It 
was  that   of  the  young  lieutenant,  who  commanded  the 


GLEN   COLrMUKTIXE. 
(From  a  Dramiig  by  F.  Nokl  Paton.) 


Wasp,  and  was  drowned  with  most  of  liis  crew,  off  Tory 
Island  a  few  years  ago  —  obeying  ordei*s,  which,  some 
people  said,  ought  never  to  have  been  given.  The  simple 
headstone,  recording  only  his  name,  age,  and  manner  of 
death,  looked  white  and  fresh  among  the  gi'ay  old  graves 
— hke  a  new  grief  among  long-forgotten  sorrows. 

"Yes,  it  was  a  sad  story,"  said  the  clergyman,  show- 
15 


226  AN    UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

ing  it  to  US.  "  His  body  drifted  ashore  not  far  from 
here.  We  knew  it  at  once  by  the  uniform.  The  men 
who  found  it  had  to  carry  it  two  hundred  yards  up  the 
face  of  a  steep  chff;  then  they  fetched  me.  The  coast- 
guard brought  a  coffin ;  we  put  him  in  it,  just  as  he 
was,  and  I  buried  him." 

"  And  his  friends  ?"  I  said,  for  it  is  they  one  thinks 
of — the  possible  mother  or  sisters — or  dearer  still. 

"  They  put  up  this  stone,  you  see.  And  they  w^ere 
here  not  so  very  long  ago,  staying  a  few  days  in  the  glen. 
It  is  such  a  pretty,  quiet  spot." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  and  did  not  ask  who  "they"  were,  or 
indeed  any  more  questions.  It  was  all  over  now.  Dead 
at  twenty-two!  But  no  man's  life  is  too  short  when  it 
ends  while  doing  his  duty. 

I  asked  about  the  "  stations." 

"  There  is  one,"  said  the  clergyman,  pointing  to  a  little 
hillock  with  a  broken  cross,  before  which  two  women 
knelt  in  absorbed  prayer ;  then  rose,  and,  taking  no  notice 
of  us  at  all,  threw  their  plaids  over  their  heads  and  qui- 
etly went  away.  We  passed  them  afterwards  far  down 
the  road — walking  gravely  and  silently.  Both  were  young, 
and  each  had  a  rather  sad  face,  as  if  there  was  something 
on  her  mind — one  of  those  burdens  that  we  all  have  to 
bear.  If  we  can  lay  them  down  anyhow,  anywhere — even 
at  the  foot  of  an  old  broken  roadside  cross — is  it  not 
well  ^ 

The  way.  home  was  by  Malin  Head,  past  a  lovely  little 
bay,  a  coastguard  station,  and  a  few  cottages,  one  of  which 


FROM  Q  WEED  ORE   TO    CARRICK. 


'2-11 


was  pointed  out  to  us  as  being,  for  half  a  summer,  the 
hermitage  of  Sir  Frederick  Leighton,  P.R.A.,  where,  in 
his  simple  enjoyment  of  everything,  he  made  no  end  of 
friends.  Not  far  off  were  some  "giants'  graves,"  as  they 
are  called  hereabouts — huge  cromlechs,  each  with  a  double 
or  single  circle  of  upright  stones  round  it ;  slowly  vanish- 
ing, the  farmers  using  them  for  cottage  walls  and  fences. 
However,  as  they  now  come  imder  the  shelter  of  Sir  John 
Lubbock's  bill  for  the  preservation  of  ancient  buildings, 
there  will  still  be  some  archaeological  treasures  left  in 
Donegal. 

Our  party — ^not  being  antiquaries — took  more  interest 
in  a  salmon-ladder  made  in  the  river  which  ran  through 
the  glen  to  the  sea;  and  in  a  poor  horse,  seen  stiniggUng 
in  the  bog. 


8T.  COI-fMBA  8  CR088. 
Frvm  a  Drawing  by  F.  Xor.t  Pato».) 


"  I  know  who  he  belongs  to,"  said 

the  coachman,  coolly,  as  if  it  were  an 

every-day  occurrence.     "We'll  hurry  on, 

and  send  them  with  ropes  to  pull  him  ou^;." 

Which  charitable  deed  was  done,  even  though  it 

was  the  Sabbath  day. 

And  what  a   Sabbath!    to  the  very  last   ghmmer  of 

sunset  hght,  which  reddened  even  the  far  east !     I  went 

out  to  catch  it,  and  to  inquire  after  the  fate  of  the  horse. 

"He's  all  right,  ma'am,"  said  a  cheery-looking  woman, 

standing  at  her  door  with  two   chubby  boys ;    and   she 

explained  that  the   owner  was  "up  the  mountain,"  but 

that  a  man  and  girl  from  the  next  cottage  had  gone  and 

di'agged  the  creature  out.     We  had  a  httle  more  talk,  dur- 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE    TO   CARRICK.  229 

ing  which  the  boys  broke  into  a  broad  grin  of  recogni- 
tion. "  Ye'll  please  to  excuse  them,  ma'am,"  the  mother 
said,  with  a  smile,  "  but  ye  spoke  to  them  at  the  school." 

Another  family  group  was  also  enjoying  its  Sunday 
idleness,  sitting  on  a  turf -bank  by  the  roadside.  I  stopped 
to  speak  to  the  smallest  of  them,  an  eK  about  four  years 
old,  who  told  me  her  name  was  "  Mary,"  and  kept  fingering 
my  clothes,  repeating  to  herself,  "  Nice  lady ;  nice  gown ! 
nice  bonnet !"  and  (complacently  patting  it)  "  nice  hand !" 
She  had  probably  never  seen  gloves  before.  Her  whole 
family — father,  mother,  and  two  big  sisters — watched  her 
proceedings  with  evident  pride.  They  all  looked  so  happy, 
so  respectable,  so  far  removed  from  public-house  loungers 
and  flaunting  village  girls,  that  I  could  beheve  entirely 
what  had  been  told  me  in  conversation  a  few  hours  be- 
fore. 

"  If  the  priests  teach  many  bad  things "  (the  speaker 
was  a  woman,  and  a  rigid  Protestant),  "they  teach  one 
good  thing — purity.  The  very  poorest  peasants  manage 
to  keep  up  in  their  miserable  cottages  a  wonderful  mod- 
esty. They  maiTy  early,  and  Mve  honest  Uves.  Seldom 
does  a  husband  desert  his  wife,  and  a  lapse  befoi'e  mar- 
riage is  among  our  girls  a  thing  almost  unheard-of." 

Any  one  who  knows  what  is  the  social  condition  of 
almost  all  English  and  Scottish  villages  mil  rate  this  fact 
at  its  just  value  in  the  present  moral  ^'itaUty  and  possible 
moral  future  of  Ireland. 

Yet  she  has  her  sins,  original  or  invented.  Which 
shall  I  call  one  sin'?  in  the  shapt  of  two  hares,  earned 


ONE  man's  path — SLIEVE  LEAGUE. 
(From  a  Drawing  by  F.  Noel  Paton.) 


by  our  artist,  who  just  then 
met  me.     He  and  a  chance 
companion  had  been  over 
Sheve    League,    where       ^ 
they  saw  two  men  with 

guns,  who  dropped  the  hares  and  ran ;  so  they  brought 
home  the  booty  to  the  lord  of  the  soil.  Poaching,  and  on 
a  Sunday  too !  What  vice !  But  that  vice,  which,  descend- 
ing from  the  higher  classes  to  the  lower,  ruins  a  nation  in 
body  and  soul,  eats  out  the  heart  of  its  strength,  and 
makes  it  from  head  to  heel  one  festering  sore,  that  vice 
at  least  does  not  belong  to  Ireland. 

Our  artist,  who  had  spent  the  whole  day  on  Slieve 
League,  spoke  of  it  with  enthusiasm.  He  had  seen  many 
a  mountain,  but  none  finer  than  this.  Its  sea  flank,  with 
the  gigantic  perpendicular  cliffs ;  its  dizzy  One  Man's  Path, 
its  long  purple  shoulder,  with  the  httle  hollow  where  lay 
hidden 'the  sohtary  lough,  were  all  magnificent. 


FROM  GWEEDORE   TO    CARRICK.  231 

"  You  must  go  to-morrow ;  drive  to  Bunglas  and 
walk  the  rest  of  the  way.  It's  difficult,  but  not  im- 
possible. The  cliffs  would  be  .grandest  from  below,  I 
think;  but  no  boat  could  live  there  till  the  sea  is  quiet. 
Still,  they  are  splendid  fi'om  above.  Such  form,  such 
coloring !    You  will  so  enjoy  it !" 

I  knew  I  should.  Our  last  day  would  be  the  cli- 
max of  our  tour.  And  in  that  delusion  we  all  went  to 
rest. 

Monday,  September  13th. — Our  hopes  died,  unfulfilled. 
Six  blanker  faces  than  ours  at  breakfast  could  not  read- 
ily be  found.  In-doors  was  a  dull  dampness  which  made 
everything  feel  clammy  to  the  touch.  Outside  it  was  an 
*'even  downpour."  Not  a  storm;  there  was  no  wind  to 
blow  the  clouds  away  and  make  you  feel  that  though  rain- 
ing cats  and  dogs  one  minute,  it  might  possibly  begin  to 
clear  the  next.  No;  it  was  a  quiet,  determined,  dehber- 
ate  deluge.  Hour  after  hour  it  went  on;  the  sharpest, 
most  sanguine  eye  could  not  detect  one  break  in  the 
leaden  sky,  one  lull  in  the  continuous  flood. 

We  did  not  speak,  or  argue  the  question ;  we  just  sat 
down  in  silent  despair.  Some  of  us  tried  to  work,  as  if 
by  not  thinking  about  it  we  should  make  the  rain  stop ; 
and  then  we  gave  in  entirely.  After  fifteen  years  of  wait- 
ing and  wishing  to  see  SUeve  League  once  more,  after 
sitting  for  nearly  a  week  at  its  very  foot,  after  having 
brought  my  companions  from  the  far  end  of  England  by 
my  description  of  its  beauties,  we  must  go  away  and  leave 


232   .  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

it  tinvisited.  They  were  young,  they  might  come  again 
some  day,  but  I  %  Old  as  I  am,  I  could  easily  have  added 
a  drop  or  two  to  the  deluge  outside.  Only,  like  poor 
Ophelia,  we  had  "  enough  of  water." 

Well,  who  can  fight  against  Fate?  We  read  and 
talked  eagerly,  recklessly,  upon  several  of  the  ethical  sub- 
jects with  which  we  were  wont  to  beguile  the  time ;  every 
one  expressing  his  or  her  opinion  with  a  ferocious  candor 
that  left  us  all  in  exactly  the  same  mind  as  we  were  at 
first;  but  conversation  flagged  and  spirits  Ukewise.  At 
last,  about  3  p.  m.,  the  Barbarous  Scot  could  stand  it  no 
longer. 

"  Let  us  go  to  Slieve  League,  even  if  it's  under  um- 
brellas and  in  waterproofs." 

The  Brown  Bird,  who  has  pluck  enough  for  anything, 
seconded  the  motion,  and  was  followed,  with  a  trifle  less 
eagerness,  by  the  Violet  and  the  Wild  Irish  Girl.  Our 
artist,  notable  for  caution  and  courage  aUke,  allowed  that 
the  expedition,  though  not  pleasant,  was  possible.  Of 
course,  sacrificed  himself  upon  the  altar  of  chivalry  with 
a  cheerful  countenance  and  offered  to  be  the  guide. 

"  You'll  not  see  much,  I  fear,  but  you'll  see  something, 
and,  anyhow,  you  can  say  you  have  been  there." 

So  they  started,  the  whole  five,  in  costumes  suited  to 
the  occasion,  but  which  even  now  I  laugh  to  think  of,  as 
I  see  them  in  my  mind's  eye  setting  off  heroically  from 
the  hotel  door.  Only  five;  for  if  advancing  years  have 
their  drawbacks,  they  at  least  teach  us  one  thing,  to  "  con- 
sume one's  own  smoke,"  as  a  friend  of  mine  pathetically 


FROM  GWEEDORE  TO   CARRICK.  233 

puts  it,  and  not  to  burden  other  people  by  attempting  to 
do  what  one  knows  one  is  not  able  to  do.  These  two 
maxims  I  beg  to  offer  as  the  experience  of  a  lifetime: 
"  Do  all  that  you  can,  for  as  long  as  you  can."  And  then, 
"Accept  the  inevitable." 

The  party  came  back,  just  before  nightfall,  soaked  to 
the  skin,  and  with  boots  that  must  be  seen  to  be  beheved, 
but  in  the  best  of  spirits.  Nobody  had  been  drowned,  or 
lost  in  a  bog,  or  blown  off  a  cliff.  And  they  had  seen 
all  they  could  see  and  done  all  they  meant  to  do;  had 
crawled  to  the  cliff's  edge  and  looked  down  the  two  thou- 
sand feet  to  the  angry  sea  below;  had  traced  the  thin 
line  of  "One  Man's  Path,"  though  to  tread  it,  shppery 
with  wet,  would  have  been  madness;  and  then  had  de- 
scended through  sheets  of  driving  rain,  the  mighty  shoul- 
der of  the  mountain. 

"Very  few  tourists  will  see  Slieve  League  as  we  saw 
it,"  was  the  consolation  in  which  they  proudly  hugged 
themselves.  And  I  fully  agreed  with  them.  If,  as  they 
dilated  on  the  wonderful  grandeur  of  the  spot,  and  how 
even  under  those  sad  circumstances  they  would  not  have 
missed  seeing  it  on  any  account,  I  felt  a  lump  in  my 
throat,  knowing  I  must  go  away  without  seeing  it,  the 
disappointment  was  pardonable. 

September  14th. — ^Wliat  should  we  do  with  happiness 
that  comes  too  late?     Most  of  us  have  known  such  a 
thing,  and  its  acute  pain.     Shall  we  sit  down  and  cry  ovor^ 
it?  or  grin  and  bear  it?  or  make  believe  we  don't  really 


234  AN   UNKNOWN  COUNTRY. 

care  for  it"?  or  just  pass  it  by  in  silence?  I  often  think 
there  is  nothing  sadder,  or  braver,  than  that  couplet  of 
Mrs.  Barrett  Browning's — true  ahke  of  small  things  and  of 
great — 

"  Judge  the  length  of  the  sword  by  the  sheath's : 
By  the  silence  of  life,  more  pathetic  than  death's." 

This  day,  the  day  of  our  departure,  was  the  end  of 
the  equinox,  the  beginning  of  the  Donegal  summer,  and 
of  weather  glorious  beyond  telling.  And  yet — we  had  to 
leave ;  and  we  left. 

Of  course,  I  might  have  made  what  is  called  "  a  great 
fuss,"  have  upset  everybody's  plans,  inconvenienced  about 
a  score  of  people,  and  stayed.  But  our  tour  had  lasted 
a  whole  month,  and  it  was  not  wholly  for  pleasure,  but 
for  use.  I  had  never  meant  to  give  exhaustive  descrip- 
tions, or  to  make  a  Blue  Book  of  facts,  but  to  write 
what  would  interest  English  people  and  allure  them  to  go 
and  investigate  Ireland  for  themselves.  Therefore,  since 
all  the  rest  had  seen  Slieve  League  —  some  in  sunshine, 
some  in  storm  —  I  did  not  feel  that  it  mattered  much 
w^hether  I  myseK  saw  it  or  not.  So  I  resisted  all  kindly 
offers  of  a  boat  on  the  sea,  or  a  pony  on  land,  an  expedi- 
tion to  Mahn  Head,  and  a  picnic  at  beautiful  Grien  Columb- 
kille.  Our  artist  was  to  stay  behind  and  "  do  "  all  these 
things ;  which  he  did — as  his  work  shows ;  but  we  others 
felt  it  right  and  best  to  depart. 

One  spare  hour  I  spent  in  being  piloted  by  a  benevo- 
lent friend  through  Carrick  Fair  —  dodging  the  horns  of 
the  httle  Donegal  cows,  and  patting  on  their  soft  white 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE   TO    CARRICK.  235 

backs  the  pretty  Donegal  sheep,  whose  wool  is  the  finest 
in  the  world.  And  then  the  cars  came  to  the  door,  and 
our  tour  to  an  end.  At  least,  so  far  as  I  shall  write 
about  it,  for  the  same  evening  we  passed  into  private 
life. 

But  our  last  drive  together,  from  Carrick  to  Killybegs, 
and  from  Killybegs  on  to  Donegal  and  Lough  Eske,  was 
one  dream  of  loveUness  from  beginning  to  end.  If,  as  we 
heard,  the  Shgo  steamer — the  same  that  we  watched  fi-om 
Umphin  Island  on  her  weekly  voyage  to  Derry  —  should 
next  year  begin  calling  regularly  at  Teelin  Bay  for  Car- 
rick, it  would  open  up  to  tourists  a  portion,  umivaUed  in 
beauty  and  in  interest,  of  that  Unknown  Coimtry  which 
I  have  here  tried  to  make  known 

And,  I  repeat,  this  book  is  merely  a  torn*.  It  attempts 
not  to  discuss  the  wrongs,  the  miseries,  the  sins  of  Ire- 
land. But  a  state  of  things  which  has  taken  centuries 
to  fall  into,  may  —  I  was  going  to  write  must  —  take  cen- 
turies more  to  cure.  I  offer  no  opinions  and  suggest  no 
remedies.  Nevertheless,  while  it  is  folly  to  cover  with 
court-plaster  a  running  sore,  or  to  ignore  with  ridiculous 
optimism  evils  that  everybody  knows  to  exist,  it  is  equally 
fatal  to  believe  those  evils  iiTcmediable.  And  with  na- 
tions as  with  individuals,  you  must  see  them,  understand 
them,  and,  in  a  sense,  love  them,  before  you  can  expect 
to  mend  them. 

England  would  be  mad  indeed  to  shut  her  eyes  to  the 
black  cloud  which  overhangs  Ireland,  and  the  social  up- 
heaval now  convulsing  her  from  end  to  end.     Her  poverty, 


236  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY. 

some  say,  is  at  the  root  of  this ;  and  much  of  it  is  inevita- 
ble. Nothing  conld  ever  make  her  a  rich  country.  Her 
inland  stretches  of  green  fertility  are  balanced  by  a  bar- 
ren rocky  coast  and  leagues  of  mountain,  moor,  and  bog ; 
and  her  mild,  moist  climate,  while  adding  to  the  outside 
beauty  of  the  country,  tends  to  enervate  its  already  half- 
starved  inhabitants.  There  is  a  well-known  saying  that 
an  Irishman  will  work  well  anywhere — except  in  Ireland. 

Then  too — I  own  it  with  bitter  regret,  but  I  must  own 
it — the  whole  country  is,  compared  with  England  or  Scot- 
land, a  full  century  behindhand  in  civilization.  I  do  not 
speak  of  luxury,  but  of  ordinary  comfort — of  making  the 
best  of  whatever  one  has,  of  mending  what  wants  repair, 
of  removing  what  is  unsightly,  and  adding  to  usefulness 
prettiness.  All  this  seems  to  be  totally  absent  from  the 
ordinary  Irish  mind,  except  of  course  the  cultivated  classes, 
which  are  much  the  same  in  all  countries.  But  the  lower 
classes  require  to  be  taught  the  commonest  things,  exactly 
hke  children,  and — who  teaches  them  ? 

The  gentry  ought  to  do  it — but  do  they?  and  more- 
over, where  are  they?  Driven  from  or  glad  to  quit  a 
country  which  they  find  no  temptation  to  remain  in,  only 
a  limited  portion  of  them  can,  will,  or  even  dare  hve  on 
their  estates,  so  as  to  be  at  once  a  help  and  an  example 
to  their  tenantry.  The  priests  are  the  chief  teachers  left. 
Their  influence  is  enormous,  both  for  good  and  evil.  Some 
are  truly  the  fathers  of  their  flock  —  knowing  all  their 
wants,  sympathizing  with  all  their  miseries,  and  keeping 
them  up  to  a  standard  of  domestic  purity  which,  as  I  have 


FROM  G  WEED  ORE  TO   CARRICK.  237 

said,  is  almost  miraculous ;  beyond  that  of  any  other  coun- 
try in  the  world.  And  there  are  many  priests  who  are 
mere  "  firebrands  ;"  low  -  bom  and  half  -  educated,  narrow 
with  the  naiTowness  of  ignorance,  and  fierce  with  unre- 
strained passions ;  since  if  culture  teaches  nothing  else,  it 
teaches  self-control.  These,  instead  of  closing,  only  widen 
the  gulf  between  tlie  upper  and  lower  classes,  so  that 
neither  can  understand  the  other.  And  Epgland  misun- 
derstands both. 

Yet,  whatever  outsiders  may  say  or  think,  the  Celtic 
race  is  intrinsically  a  noble  race ;  free  from  many  modem 
vices,  even  while  clinging  to  some  barbaric  sins.  You 
may  hate  it,  but  you  cannot  despise  it ;  and  you  cannot 
live  among  it,  even  while  seeing  all  its  en-ors,  without 
feeling  your  heart  warm  to  it,  and  to  its  enormous  possi- 
bilities of  good.  If  our  legislators,  ere  dealing  with  Ire- 
land, would  first  take  the  trouble  to  know  Ireland,  it  would 
be  a  curious  study,  well  worth  the  pains  of  the  new  gen- 
eration which  will  have  to  sit  at  Westminster. 

The  word  brings  to  my  mind  an  incident  I  saw  this 
year  in  a  Westminster  omnibus,  just  opposite  the  Houses 
of  Parliament.  A  httle  crippled  girl  was  getting  out 
very  feebly,  all  the  other  occupants  of  the  vehicle  look- 
ing on,  but  nobody  doing  anything,  till  a  burly  country- 
man jumped  out,  saw  her  safe  across  tlie  perilous  sti*eet, 
and  on  to  the  pavement,  and  returned  to  his  scat.  Some- 
body observed  :  *'  Poor  little  creature !" 

"  Ay,"  said  the  man,  rather  shamefaced  at  his  own  deed, 
but  still  determined  to  brave  it  out.     "But  a  'andful  of 


238  AN   UNKNOWN   COUNTRY.      . 

'elp  " — he  had  not  an  "  h  "  in  his  vocabulary — "  a  'andful 
of  'elp  is  worth  a  cartload  of  pity." 

It  is  to  put  a  similar  idea  into  the  heads  and  hearts 
of  English  people  that  I  have  written  this  book  about 
Ireland. 


THE    END, 


MISS  MULOCK'S  WORKS. 


Among  all  modern  novel-writers  we  place  Miss  Mulock  first,  not  in  genius,  but  in  this,  tliat 
with'lier  the  imagination  is  always  employed  for  a  high  and  noble  purpose, and  is  always  pure. 
We  know  of  no  modern  novel-writer,  and  scarce  of  any  writer  of  fiction  of  the  past,  whoso  works 
may  be  so  safely  commended  as  hers.  But  Miss  Mulock  never  writes  merely  to  amuse,  nor  yet 
to  instruct,  but  always  to  elevate.  Her  very  titles  are  themselves  inspiriting— "A  Noble  Life," 
"A  Life  for  a  Life,"  "A  Brave  Lady,"  "Tlie  Woman's  Kingdom."  The  ideals,  as  "John  Hali- 
fa.\,"  and  "A  Brave  Lady,"  are  Christian  ideals;  and  if  she  sometimes  paints  them  in  such  per- 
fection that  we  sigh  at  characterizations  which  appear  to  us  to  be  unattainable,  yet  they  are 
never  less  nor  more  than  human.  She  never  employs  romance  as  a  means  of  teaching  theology, 
or  even  as  an  excuse  for  sermonizing.  Her  novels  are  the  farthest  possible  removed  from  didac- 
tic stories.  She  inspires  her  readers  simply  by  bringing  them  in  contact  with  characters  who 
are  themselves  inspiring,  and  tlie  simple  plots  of  her  stories  are  only  woven  to  give  her  an  oppor- 
tunity to  describe  her  characters  by  tlieir  own  conduct  in  seasons  of  trial.  We  cannot  under- 
stand how  one  can  arise  from  the  perusal  of  any  of  her  stories  without  being  made  better  by  the 
reading;  and  we  believe  the  mother  who  wishes  to  guard  her  daughter  against  the  sensational 
novel  of  tlie  day  will  find  in  Miss  Mulock's  fiction  a  useful  means  to  aid  lier  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  her  design. — lUuntrated  CfoiKtUin  Weekly,  N.  Y. 


A  BRAVE  LADY.  A  Novel.  Illustrated. 
8vo,  Paper,  60  cents;  12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents. 

A  FRENCH  COUNTRY  FAMILY.  From 
the  French  of  Mme.  De  Witt,  nee  Quizot. 
Illustrated.     12mo,  Cloth,  ^1  50. 

AGATHA'S  HUSBAND.  A  Novel.  8vo, 
Paper,  35  cents  ;  12mo,  Illustrated,  Cloth, 
90  cents. 

A  HERO,  and  Other  Tales.  12mo.  Cloth, 
90  cents. 

A  LEGACY:  The  Life  and  Remains  of 
John  Martin.  Edited  by  Miss  Mulock. 
12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents. 

A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE.  A  Novel.  8vo, 
Paper,  40  cents;  12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents. 

A  NOBLE  LIFE.  A  Novel.  12nio,  Cloth, 
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ABOUT  MONEY,  and  Other  Things.  12mo, 
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AVILLION,  and  Other  Tales.  8vo,  Paper, 
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CHRISTIAN'S  MISTAKE.  A  Novel. 
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FAIR  FRANCE.     12mo,  Cloth.  #1  50. 

HANNAH.  A  Novel.  Illustrated.  8vo, 
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HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  &c.  12mo,  Cloth, 
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JOHN    HALIFAX,    GENTLEMAN.      A 

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KING  ARTHUR  Not  a  Love  -  Story. 
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MISTRESS  AND  MAID.  A  Household 
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MOTHERLESS;  or,  A  Parisian  Family. 
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Guizot.  For  Girls  in  their  Teens.  Illus- 
trated.    12mo.  Cloth,  $1  50. 

MY  5I0THER  AND  I.  A  Love -Story. 
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Tales.    8vo.  Paper,  80 


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OUR  YEAR. 

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THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  BROWNIE. 
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THE  FAIRY  BOOK.  The  BoM  Popular 
Fairy  Stories  rendered  anew.  Illustralcii. 
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Miss  Mulock's  Works. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  FAMILY.  A 
Novel.  8vo,  Paper,  50  cents ;  12mo,  Illus- 
trated, Cloth,  90  cents. 

THE  LAUREL  BUSH.  An  Old-fashioned 
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TWO  MARRIAGES.  John  Bowerbank's 
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BOOKS    FOR    GIRLS. 

Written  or  Edited  by  the  Author  of  "John  Halifax."    16mo,  Cloth,  90  cents  each. 


1.  Little  Sunshine's  Holiday.     A  Pict- 

ure   from    Life.      By    Miss    Mulock. 
With  Illustrations  by  Frolich. 

2.  The  Cousin  from  India.      By  Geor- 

GiANA  M.  Craik.     Illustrated. 

3.  Twenty  Years  Ago.    From  the  Journal 

of  a  Girl  in  her  Teens.    Edited  by  Miss 
MuLOCK.     With  an  Illustration. 


4.  Is  IT  True  ?     Tales,  Curious  and  Won- 

derful, collected  by  Miss  Mulock.  With 
an  Illustration. 

5.  An    Only    Sister.      By    Madame    De 

Witt.     With  six  Illustrations. 


Miss  Moore. 
Illustrated. 


By  Georgiana  M.  Craik. 


/ 


HARPER'S  LIBRARY  EDITION 

12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents  per  volume; 
A  BRAVE  LADY. 
A  HERO. 
A  LEGACY. 
A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE. 
A  NOBLE  LIFE. 

ABOUT  MONEY,  AND  OTHER  THINGS. 
AGATHA'S  HUSBAND. 
CHRISTIAN'S  MISTAKE 
HANNAH. 

HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER,  &c. 
JOHN  HALIFAX. 
KING  ARTHUR. 
MISS  TOMMY. 
MISTRESS  AND  MAID. 


OF  MISS  MULOCK'S  WORKS. 

524  30  per  set;  Half  Calf,  $67  50. 
MY  MOTHER  AND  I. 
OLIVE. 

PLAIN  SPEAKING. 
SERMONS  OUT  OF  CHURCH. 
STUDIES  FROM  LIFE. 
THE  FAIRY  BOOK. 
THE  HEAD   OF  THE  FAMILY. 
THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 
THE  OGILVIES. 
THE  UNKIND   WORD. 
THE  WOMAN'S  KINGDOM. 
TWO  MARRIAGES. 
YOUNG  MRS.  JARDINE. 


Published  by  HAEPER  &  BROTHEPS,  New  Yoek. 

Any  of  the  above  works  sent  hy  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States  or  Canada,  on 

receipt  of  the  price. 


Crnil<",^'rs-E 

ifinh  Mflri  ft 

C88 

(Mulock) 

_^y— 

M31794 


DA  977 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


